The Crimson Badger, Book IV: Fire on the Mountain
by Highwing
Summary: <html><head></head>The final battle for Salamandastron</html>
1. Chapter 63

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Sixty-Three

Urthblood's rumbling tones of command preceded him as he strode along the rock-carved corridor. "Captain Lorsch!"

The rat commander snapped to attention as his badger master approached. "Yes, M'Lord?"

Urthblood motioned with a paw at the other rat troops around the tunnel. "I have dispatched Captain Cermak's rat platoon to the eastern foothills on a foraging expedition. I expect they will not return until after nightfall. I want you to move your own squad up to the crater top to occupy it in their absence."

"Yes, sir. Um, what about guardin' this level?"

"The hares are gone, Captain. We no longer need to guard every part of the mountain's interior. Any threat to us now will come from outside Salamandastron ... which is why I want your brigade up on the plateau, where you can guard that entrance and keep an eye on the surrounding coastlands."

"Yessir! Right on it, M'Lord!" Even as Lorsch began rounding up his rats for their new assignment, Urthblood marched down to the level below and sought through the chambers and passages until he found Captain Abellon, drilling with some of his fellow mice in one of the larger Long Patrol dormitories. The previous tenants had left the stronghold very well fortified in anticipation of his arrival, or an assault from Tratton's searats, so his own troops now had little to do to make Salamandastron battle ready. All the larger window slits that could be easily accessed from the outside had been sealed up, and the rest all had plentiful supplies of weapons and ammunition piled under them so that an enemy horde could be instantly engaged in any direction. This left plenty of time for his soldiers to practice, tend to their weapons of choice, familiarize themselves with the layout of the fortress, or just rest up after their long march from Redwall.

The mouse captain looked up as Urthblood entered. "Hail, My Lord!" Abellon greeted, sheathing his shortsword. "Just keepin' these mice of mine in their best fighting form!"

"And a good job you're making of it, Captain, judging from what I see. But then, I have come to expect such professionalism from my mouse brigade. You have never disappointed me so far."

"And we don't intend to start anytime soon!" Abellon said with gusto. There was nothing like a little military exercise to stir up a warrior beast's enthusiasm.

"Good. Now, I have just cleared Captain Lorsch's platoon out of the level above us. They will hold the roof position for the remainder of the day. I will be engaged in activities upon the next level for some time to come. I would prefer not to be interrupted. You may wish to mention this to Captains Mattoon, Perrett and Bandon, although I do not think any of their troops will be venturing up this way."

"I'll make sure they know, sir."

"Fine. Carry on, Captain." Urthblood left Abellon saluting after him.

Up on the now-deserted level above, the Badger Lord went to a passage that seemed to come to a dead end. Urthblood knew all the secrets of his old home, including this one. He knew how to manipulate the stone slab, using his badger's strength to wedge open and labor aside the false ending to reveal the hidden chamber beyond. This was the heart of the mountain, far from any window or tunnel leading to the outside. Bearing a lit lantern in each paw, Urthblood stepped forward into the throne room of Salamandastron.

There, upon his left, was his dreaded prophecy, just as he had last seen it some twenty seasons before. His brother had added no carvings in the intervening time; the curve of the chamber wall beyond his chiseled words of doom remained smooth and unmarked.

Urthblood stared at the dire verse for a long time. He did not need to read the characters of high ancient Badger Script hewn skillfully into the rock face; he knew every character and pictogram of the prophecy. It was burned into his mind and would never leave him in peace. But read it he did, several times, his unblinking eyes scanning every line from top to bottom and then back again. Seeing these carven images was indeed different from simply knowing them. Urthblood reached out and traced along the engravings with a pawtip. Here, the prophecy became real. And now that he knew how horribly his own sibling had misunderstood this cautionary warning, had even turned the Long Patrol against their rightful master in his false belief, Urthblood wanted to see how Urthfist could have so badly misinterpreted the portent of their shared destiny.

He could not see it. No matter how many times he read the prophecy, no matter how he dissected each line and tried to imagine how they must appear to other eyes ... Urthfist was simply wrong. And that was all there was to it. Urthblood must be allowed the freedom to take any action he deemed necessary for the protection of the lands, and that meant uniting all creatures under his strong paw. Anybeast who stood against him was an enemy of peace, and could quite possibly be the undoing of all the lands.

Even his own brother.

Impassively, he turned and walked farther into the chamber. The far inside wall bowed to form a large alcove, in the center of which was an immense stone throne. The royal seat stood empty now, although according to Badger Lord lore, the remains of Lord Brocktree had sat there in its ceremonial war armor for many generations. Brocktree was one of the first of the Mossflower badgers to assume Lordship of the mountain. What had become of the remains, Urthblood had no idea. The throne had been empty when Urthblood and Urthfist had first come to Salamandastron in their youth. An inscription at its base declared the vacant throne stand as a symbol of the solitary dedication and sacrifice required of every Badger Lord.

One side of the throne alcove bulged out due to a large boulder which sat on the floor. The boulder too bore an inscription, one far more ancient than the one at the foot of the throne. Urthblood walked over to its curved side, snout almost touching the stony surface, and held up one lamp.

rollme

Roll me. And that's exactly what he and his brother had done, long ago, before the spectre of prophecies had driven him from his home and made Urthfist see him as an enemy. They'd been exploring the mountain together one day soon after their installment as the rulers here, exposing every secret the stronghold had to offer. The throne room was nothing new to them; Urthblood had stumbled upon it only their second or third day there. But on this day, after they had dwelt within the mountain for the better part of a season, their inspection was more thorough, and one of them noticed for the very first time this faint inscription carved upon the boulder. Following the two-words-as-one instruction, they had stuggled and strained to roll the boulder out of its depression in the floor, and at last they'd succeeded. And thus was one of the most precious mysteries of Salamandastron yielded up to them.

Urthblood had no fellow badger to help him now, but he was older and more well-developed in his bones and muscles. And the fire of his prophecy burned within him, demanding constant attention. That unceasing drive had impelled him to greater feats than the one required of him now. He positioned himself against one flank of the boulder and leaned into it, legs braced against the floor like steel pylons. Recalling from his youth the manner in which it had rolled when he and Urthfist had dislodged it, he spread his paws wide around it to guide it in the direction that would make the effort easiest. And then he pushed for all he was worth.

At first it did not budge. Urthblood ignored this preliminary result. For him, failure was not an option. He would move the boulder, he must move it, and there was no doubt in his mind whatsoever that he would do so. Redoubling his efforts, he pushed harder, and harder still, his strength and living will pitted against the uncaring rock. His muscles bunched and corded until they threatened to break through the skin, his pulse pounded in his ears like thunder, and his breath came in ragged gasps. Fighting to keep himself from crying out, for he did not wish to be disturbed by other beasts who would be summoned by such a roar, he ground his teeth together and held himself to a muted, gutteral growl of exertion. Finally, the boulder shifted and tilted, rolling just the slightest bit from its former position. Once it was moving, there was no doubt of the outcome ... not that there ever had been any in Urthblood's mind. A few moments later, the boulder lay several paces from its starting point, coming to rest right alongside the empty throne.

Chest heaving and throat raw, Urthblood scooped up one of the lanterns and lowered it into the wide hole that had been revealed by the boulder's removal.

Here, in the secret pit-like chamber beneath the throne room, lay the ages-old treasure of the Badger Lords of Salamandastron. And since it was the trove of noble warriors, the bulk of the prizes contained within were of the military variety. Surely, there were plates and vessels of gold and silver, along with gems and jewels and pearls. But these merely decorative items were vastly outnumbered by weaponry of unmatched fineness: swords, shields, spears, battle axes, maces, pikes and lances, knives and daggers. All forged by the Badger Lords over the course of many generations, and therefore all representing the very pinnacle of armscraft. There too were complete sets of full-sized badger armor, as if it had been expected that someday a score or more of mountain Lords at once might all have to suit up in defense of Salamandastron.

One suit lay atop all the other treasure. Within that armor was the intact skeleton of a badger, its eyeless sockets now staring up through the hole at Urthblood. When he and Urthfist had beheld this ghastly sentinel all those seasons ago, they'd received an awful fright. They'd assumed they had found the remains of Brocktree at last, moved here from the throne. They later learned, from reading some of the histories carved into the walls, that it was actually the corpse of a later Badger Lord, Urthstripe the Strong, who'd died while defending Salamandastron from a conquering horde and, as his dying request, had been lain down amongst the treasure to play the part of its eternal guardian in the ages to come. No doubt other Lords had added their treasures to this hoard since Urthstripe's interment, but they had been careful to place their new offerings off to the sides so that Urthstripe would always lie atop all the rest, as he was meant to. Lord Brocktree's bones might be a vanished mystery, but Urthstripe remained to this very day where he'd been laid to rest after his death.

Urthblood and Urthfist had looked long and hard upon the treasure they had uncovered, taking mental stock of nearly every splendid tool of war that lay therein. But, out of reverence to their fallen predecessor, they had touched none of it. It would not have felt right, for this was a tomb as well as a treasury. So, after several hours of caressing this priceless collection with their eyes alone, they'd rolled the boulder back into place, vowing they would not disturb it again until they were near the end of their seasons and ready to make their own worthy additions to the treasure of the mountain.

That had been before the prophecy.

Urthblood lowered himself into the hole, balancing precariously upon the shifting mounds of artifacts alongside Urthstripe's mummy. Gazing at the long-dead badger, he solemnly intoned, "Forgive me for intruding here, Your Majesty, but I am Lord of the Mountain now. And I have need of these things which are rightfully mine."

That said, he began transferring the best and brightest of the armaments up out of the pit and onto the throne room floor. It was a task he stayed at for quite some time.

00000000000

"Lord Urthblood? My Lord, are you there?"

Abellon felt his way along the dark tunnel, making for the faint glimmer that shone at its far end. Hours had passed since the badger warrior had asked not to be disturbed and had disappeared into the mazes of Salamandastron. The mouse captain was respectful of his master's wishes, but now there was news to report, and Abellon felt it was his duty to deliver it to Urthblood, no matter what activity occupied him.

The only problem was, the badger was nowhere to be found. He had plainly stated that he would be engaged in a task on this level, but Abellon had searched nearly every corridor and chamber to no avail. It was only out of desperation that he decided to investigate this passage, even though memory told him it was merely a simple cul-de-sac.

Except that now light shone from a room that should not have been there. As he cautiously stepped forward, Abellon saw that a rock slab leaned against the tunnel wall, having been shifted to reveal the hidden chamber beyond.

Before he could cross the threshold, the pattern of light within the room swayed and danced, and then Lord Urthblood was standing before him, a lantern in each paw, blocking the way into the secret place.

The mouse blinked and squinted in the sudden dazzle of the double lamps. Plainly curious, he craned his neck to see past Urthblood. He and his mice had been all through this level on their previous inspections, and they'd all assumed this was just a dead-end tunnel. Now the displaced door slab and dark cave beyond gave lie to that assumption. Abellon could glimpse countless sparkles and glitters reflecting out of the deep shadows behind his master. But since Urthblood had brought out both lamps, leaving the mysterious chamber unlit, Abellon's view into the gloom was limited to those tantalizing gleams from objects unknown.

"What is this place, My Lord?"

"A place meant only for the Lords of the Mountain, Captain. You should not be here."

"I'm ... sorry, Lord. I didn't know."

"I should have told you. But I did ask not to be disturbed."

"Yes, I know, Lord. But Captains Halpryn and Klystra have returned from their latest survey flight. They seem quite excited, and asked to speak with you immediately. I think they may have news of your brother. I thought it best to inform you right away."

Urthblood nodded. "Very well. You are dismissed, Captain." And with that he started to turn back toward the dark chamber.

"Uh, Lord? Should I tell those birds you'll be right up to take their report? They're waiting on the crater top for you."

"Tell them I am presently engaged," Urthblood said curtly. "I will be with them when I am finished here."

"But, sir! Their news could be urgent!"

"Could Captain Lorsch's squad see my brother and his hares from the plateau?"

"Um, no. Not when I last heard ... "

"Then it is nothing urgent enough to call me away from the task at paw. If my brother comes within view of the mountaintop lookouts, then come get me. Otherwise, I will be up when my work here is finished."

"Um ... yes, Lord. Should I tell the other captains to put their squads on a state of alert?"

"They have all been on a state of alert ever since we entered Salamandastron. Colonel Clewiston would not listen to reason, and we cannot expect Urthfist to do otherwise. My brother will return here soon, and when he does we may expect war. Our current state of readiness is adequate. We will have plenty of warning before he arrives. So rest easy, Captain." Urthblood turned to re-enter the secret room of the Badger Lords. "Rest easy ... for now."

Abellon knew better than to follow Urthblood, or even to remain standing where he was, waiting to get a clearer look into the forbidden chamber as Urthblood returned the lamps there. Whatever lay within, it was meant for the eyes of Badger Lords alone, unless Urthblood deigned to share it with the other creatures of his army. Abellon turned and scurried down the tunnel the way he'd come, off to tell the two birds of prey that they must wait upon their master's indulgence.

00000000000

The sun had set by the time Urthblood finally appeared on the plateau to take Halpryn and Klystra's report. Their majestic plumage was ruffled in indignation at being made to wait so long; loyal servants to the Badger Lord they might have been, but they were also noble creatures in their own right, and not so intimidated by Urthblood that they would bother to hide their impatience.

Lorsch's rats, by contrast, were equally intimidated by both their badger master and his skyhunter captains. It had always been so. Under other circumstances, the kite and falcon would have preyed upon the rat soldiers for food without a second thought. And rats, being the suspicious and nervous beasts that they were, would never feel fully at ease in their presence, no matter how long they worked together under Urthblood's command.

For that reason, no rat had ventured over to inquire about the nature of the news the birds bore. It must have been quite important, considering how urgently they'd asked to have Urthblood summoned. Why the badger had not appeared immediately was another mystery altogether, but the visionary warlord had always acted according to his own set of rules. As the delay grew longer, and the two mighty raptors grew increasingly agitated, so the circle of Lorsch's platoon had receded farther from their perch on the crater rim. By the time Urthblood did at last show up, the rats were all crowded together on one side of the plateau, leaving a respectable distance between themselves and the waiting birds. Burning curiosity was not nearly enough to overcome their instinctive fear of their natural enemies, who each could have lifted a rat in one talon and flown off with a pair of the rodents apiece.

Urthblood paid the rats no heed as he climbed the stairs to the crater top and strode across to where Halpryn and Klystra awaited. Badger and birds went into one of their typical rapid-fire exchanges. Lorsch strained to hear what was said, but the imposing trio kept their voices to a murmur that was lost to the light evening breezes blowing in off the ocean. And the rat captain dared not intrude upon their conversation without an invitation. If Urthblood wanted Lorsch to be included, he would have said so.

Urthblood turned from Halpryn and Klystra and crossed the plateau to the rat commander. "Captain, as soon as Cermak returns with his squad from their foraging excursion, I want a full assembly of all the captains down in the main dining hall. There is news to share."

"Uh, is the enemy approachin', M'Lord?" That had been the favored speculation amongst the rooftop rats.

"All in good time, Captain."

"Yes, sir. Um, Cap'n Cermak'll prob'ly come in through the south entrance. Should I have somebeast meet 'im there?"

"Yes, with orders to report straight to the meeting. Go now and inform all the other squad commanders of the council."

"Aye aye. Uh, also me rats haven't had naught t' eat since midday, an' they're gettin' purty hungered. Can I send 'em down so's they can grab some grub?"

"Yes, that would work out well. They can eat now and be finished before the meeting of the captains, so that the dining hall will be clear for us."

"D'you want Mattoon or one o' the others to send their troops up t' spell us, M'Lord?"

"No, Captain, that won't be necessary. There is no enemy close to Salamandastron at the moment. Klystra and Halpryn can watch the roof stairs well enough on their own."

Lorsch turned to his underlings. "You heard 'is Lordship! Down to th' mess hall, double quick! Gotta be finished feedin' yer faces 'fore he needs th' place!"

With both Lorsch and Urthblood present, the rats obeyed without question. The plateau was quickly cleared of everybeast except Lorsch, the badger and the two birds. The rat captain went over to the east rim and gazed out toward the line of mountains. The bright gray of twlight lay over the coastlands, the silvery evenness of a summer day just after the sun has set and taken its long shadows with it. A large troop of creatures, travelling in an oblong knot, was approaching them from the foothills. They would not arrive until Lorsch's rats had had time to help themselves to a good supper.

Lorsch narrowed his eyes. That had to be Cermak's platoon, but even from this distance and in this light, Lorsch could tell something was not as it should be. "M'Lord, that's too big to be Cap'n Cermak's group!"

Urthblood came up alongside the rat. His eyesight was better than any vermin's. "I believe you are right, Captain. But those most certainly are not hares either. They are marching with purpose, as I would expect from any of my troops. They are not approaching as enemies would."

Lorsch scratched at his jaw in bewilderment. "Well, Cermak's squad should be returnin' 'bout now, an' that's th' way they'd be comin' from. I jus' can't figger it, sir."

"Captain Halpryn," Urthblood called out, pointing toward the marchers in the distance, "please fly down to find out why that group is larger than it should be, and then fly back to report."

"Yes, Lord." The kite lifted from the crater rim and majestically soared across the landscape toward the oncoming company, making the kind of speed which only the great creatures of the air could attain. It was not clear what happened when she reached the troop, but the waiting badger, rat and falcon were not kept in suspence for long. Halpryn returned mere minutes after her departure. "More news, Lord."

"Yes?"

"Machus comes. From over the mountains. His company returns with Cermak. They were ordered out of Redwall by the Abbess."

"Well," Urthblood mused, "this is an interesting development. And not an altogether unfortunate one, although I shall want to hear why the Abbess saw fit to send him away. But it puts our forces here at full strength just when that is most to our advantage. Machus and Mina can join us at the meeting of the captains. I am most interested to hear the tidings from Redwall."

00000000000

Winokur and Warnokur were overjoyed to learn that another Redwaller was among the group headed by Machus and Mina, and would be joining them here at Salamandastron. The two otters met up with Alexander at the entrance to the dining hall, embracing heartily and pounding each other on the back.

"Alex, matey!" Warnokur exclaimed. "What in th' name of seven seasons are you doin' here?"

"Just along for the ride, Warny," the squirrel replied. "I figured Machus might appreciate having a decent archerbeast in his company if Urthfist and those hares caught up with him."

"You mean ANOTHER decent archerbeast, don't you?" Lady Mina teased, coming up alongside Alex and nodding her greeting at the two otters.

Alexander glanced aside at her. "Well, two heads are always better than one, it's said, so I figured the same must be true of bowbeasts. My shafts added to yours might just stop an army in its tracks!"

"Guess it never came to that, huh?" Warnokur asked.

"Thankfully not," Alex said. "But before we left the Abbey, I got a good taste of Lord Urthfist's attitude, and quite frankly it stuck in my throat. He's wholly convinced his brother is totally evil, and he's out for war, no two ways about it."

Winokur's brow furrowed. "There hasn't been any bad trouble at Redwall, has there?"

"Well, not from Urthfist," said Alex. "There was a very unfortunate incident that almost turned into a tragedy, but it turned out all right, pretty much. I'll tell you all about it later. But it had nothing to do with Urthfist. He didn't even arrive until a few days later - and that's when we all got to see what an obstinate, unreasonable bully he was. His hares weren't much better. Not the ones he had with him, or the other twenty we ran into yesterday up in the mountain pass. You know them; they're the ones you rousted out of this place."

Winokur's eyebrows shot up. "You met them?"

"That we did. They're headin' to Redwall the short way, straight over the mountains, same as we took to get here. Gonna hook up with Urthfist's main force at Redwall, then I suppose they'll be headed back this way again. They're as stuck on war with Urthblood as Urthfist is ... but then, I guess I don't have to tell you that, if you'd had any chance to talk to them yourselves. We narrowly escaped coming to blows up on the high passes. That would've been the end of us all, I'm afraid - we were alongside a treacherous drop, and more of us would've been killed being pushed off the narrow cliff ledge than from battle wounds. Pretty scary."

"I can imagine," agreed Warnokur, who like most otters was not overly fond of high places himself. "Fer a bushytailed treescamper like you to admit to such a thing, must've been a true fright!"

"Let's just say I wouldn't want to have to do it all over again!" Alex laughed a little nervously. He looked to Winokur. "So, I guess your efforts of playing peacemaker were lost on those hares, huh?"

Wink shrugged sadly. "Like you said, Alexander sir, they've got their minds made up, and they're set on war with Urthblood, come what may. I really thought I could make a difference, but I've been about as much use here as fins on a mole!"

"Well, don't let it get you down. I'm sure you did your best."

"That 'ee did!" Warnokur beamed, throwing his fatherly paw around Winokur's shoulders. "I'm right proud o' ye, Wink. T'wasn't yer fault them chum-headed bunnies wouldn't lissen to yer good Redwall sense. You did yer best, an' the Abbes was right t' send you."

Winokur looked abashed and shuffled his footpaws at this praise from his father.

By this time, all of Lorsch's rats had eaten their fill and filed out of the dining hall, leaving it clear for the conference Urthblood had called. Some of the captains were already seating themselves around the head of the table to either side of the oversized badger chair.

"Looks like we're almost ready to start," Mina observed. "Here comes Lord Urthblood now. Alex, why don't you sit in with us? I'm sure he will want a full report on everything that happened at Redwall, and you can help with that. Two heads are better than one, remember?"


	2. Chapter 64

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Sixty-Four

Winokur, Warnokur and Alexander were all granted places at the meeting. Lady Mina and all the captains were there, except for Halpryn and Klystra, who stayed on the mountaintop. Machus took his customary spot at Urthblood's right paw, with Mina and the three Redwallers past him. The other commanders and the Foremole sat farther along either side of the table. Sixteen beasts all told, clustered around one end of a table that could easily have accommodated thrice that number ... but these sixteen were the ones that really mattered this night within Salamandastron.

"As you can all see," Urthblood began, "Machus and his company have come from Redwall. Before anything else, I would like him and Lady Mina to inform us of everything that has happened to them since we parted ways back at the Abbey."

It took quite some time for Machus, Mina and Alexander to relate all that had occurred with them from the day of Urthblood's departure from Redwall to their arrival here. Machus spared no detail in his account of the near-tragedy with Cyrus, including how he'd ordered the rat Wolfrum put to death; this was the first time Alex had heard the swordfox openly admit that this was what had happened, even though the squirrel had had his suspicions. Machus also explained how Smallert had been given the protection of Redwall, and had been left behind to become a full-time Abbeybeast. The other captains and the two Redwall otters hung on every word as Machus detailed his desperate measures to save the life of the young mouse, and expressions of relief broke out on nearly every face when it was revealed that Cyrus had recovered more quickly and completely than could have been hoped for.

"Such surgery was quite new to us," Alex commented. "Machus proved himself a true friend of Redwall with his heroic actions."

"I would have expected nothing less of him," Urthblood said without compassion. "He was in command of that force, left at Redwall at my request. Had that mouse died, it would have been as much on his head - and mine - as on the beasts who actually did this misdeed." He turned to Machus. "The methods you used to save this child were rather extreme for a creature so young. Are you confident there will be no complications as he heals further?"

"I believe his youth actually worked in his favor, My Lord. He was up and about by the time we left, and appeared to be gaining strength every day. He showed no signs of a relapse."

"Good. Still, you may wish to return to the Abbey when you may, to follow up on your patient. Your skills in such healing techniques surpass those of any Redwaller."

Machus nodded. "I will plan on it, My Lord. When circumstances allow. But I fear my skills with a blade will be needed here before all else." He proceeded to explain the manner of Urthfist's arrival at the Abbey, the hostility with which he and his hares regarded Urthblood, and Vanessa's decision that no forces from either side would be permitted to station themselves inside Redwall. "I know your orders were for us to remain there, but the Abbess made it clear that we would be violating her wishes if we did not leave. I did not mean to disobey you, but I truly felt I had no choice."

"You did the right thing, Machus," Urthblood reassured him. "I did not mean for you to force yourself upon Redwall if you were not welcome there. The desires of its leaders must of course come first. But I hope my brother caused them no trouble after you left."

"I have no way of knowing that, My Lord," Machus said, going on to describe the arrangement that had been worked out with the belligerent badger whereby he and the Long Patrol stood in full view outside the south Abbey wall while Machus led his force away through the north gate and into the safety of the forest, covered from the treetops by Mina, Alex and the Mossflower Patrol. "My main concern at that point was the safety of my soldiers. That, and rejoining you at Salamandastron as quickly as I might, My Lord. I had heard you speak several times of a shortcut over the mountains, and decided to chance that route when I realized we had to leave the Abbey. I remembered you saying that the pass lay almost directly across the Western Plains from Redwall, so I knew roughly where it must be. Unfortunately, our immediate flight from Urthfist caused us to travel half a day north and cross the Plains there, then backtrack to the south again once we reached the range. Redwall was no longer visible at that distance, so we had to search up and down for the better part of a day until we finally managed to pick up the right trail. It was my hope to get over the mountains in a single day, but we met some unexpected travelers coming the other way."

Machus told of meeting Colonel Clewiston's brigade up in the high mountain pass, and how fighting had been narrowly averted along the perilous cliff edge, thanks in large part to Alexander's timely intervention.

Winokur patted Alex on the back. "Well, I'm heartened to hear that at least one Redwaller got to be a peacemaker in all of this."

"Yes," Urthblood nodded, "it would seem I owe you a great debt for helping Machus and his company reach Salamandastron safely."

"It would not have occurred to me to do otherwise," Alex replied. "But there is something I must ask you about, Lord. Urthfist and his Long Patrol at Redwall told us of a hare named Browder, who came to them with tales of horrible deeds you'd committed at Redwall, and asked for their help, supposedly on behalf of all the creatures of Mossflower who were suffering. Colonel Clewiston mentioned Browder to me as well, and verified that Captain Saybrook had admitted to knowing that hare in the Northlands. They are all convinced that you sent Browder to lure your brother out of Salamandastron. I must tell you, the Abbess does not think very highly of such tactics, if that tale is true."

Urthblood's response was unapologetic. "My tactics, which the Abbess might find so disagreeable, saved a great many lives. If Urthfist and all hundred of the Long Patrol had been here to resist me when I arrived, many beasts who are still alive would instead be dead now. My brother, it seems, is incapable of seeing reason, has convinced his hares I am their mortal enemy, and has corrupted the Long Patrol to the point where they will no longer serve the rightful ruler of Salamandastron. I sent Browder so that I might be able to enter my own home without bloodshed, and now that I have done so while my brother has shown his true colors, I would say my methods have been justified. Indeed, my use of Browder has served a double purpose. I instructed him to tell Urthfist things which were not true, abominable things. The mere fact that my brother even considered me capable of such atrocities is in itself a clear indication of how unhinged his mind has become, of how demented he is. It would be dangerous and unacceptable for such a beast to remain in command of this, the only line of defense between Tratton and the inner lands. Yes, good Alexander, I did employ Browder to mislead my brother. And I would say we are all better off for it."

"Well, yes, I suppose. But there is one more thing that bothers me, Lord ... "

"Yes?"

"Well, just when did you send Browder to Salamandastron?"

"When I became concerned that all was not well with my brother," Urthblood answered without hesitation.

"And when would that have been?" Alex pressed.

"I do not know what you're getting at."

"Before, or after you came to Redwall?"

"After," Urthblood said.

Alex worried at his whiskers with one paw. "Well, here's the thing, Lord. As far as we could tell, you yourself didn't seem to realize how bad things were with your brother until Hanchett showed up at Redwall and started spouting off ... after he'd tried to kill you, of course. But, there's no way Urthfist could have gotten to the Abbey when he did unless he'd left Salamandastron around the same time you left Redwall. How do you explain this, Lord?"

A tension had settled over the assembly. The captains were most unaccustomed to hearing their master interrogated in such a manner.

"That is simple," Urthblood responded. "I dispatched Browder the night before my army arrived at Redwall ... which was several days before Hanchett did."

Alex stared blankly at the badger. "I don't understand. If Hanchett was the first time you suspected your brother was a real problem - "

"But it wasn't," said Urthblood. "Hanchett merely confirmed suspicions that were already in my mind."

"You never told us any of this!"

"Just because I did not voice my concerns at the time does not mean that I did not have them."

"So, you knew when you left the Abbey that Urthfist would be coming to Redwall. You had to have known. Lord, you had no right to use our home the way you did, no matter what you were trying to do! You should have told us about Browder, at the very least."

"Ah. And would your Abbess have approved of my tactics any more hearing about them from me, rather than from my brother?"

"It wasn't right to keep this from us, Lord." Alex looked hard at Urthblood. The badger gave no hint of shame or unease, no indication that he considered himself openly caught in a lie. He freely admitted his deceptive methods with unflinching calm. He remained utterly impassive and confident. But even more than that, his attitude toward Alexander's questioning was like a parent painfully explaining the obvious to a child. He was absolutely in the right, his manner declared, and anybeast who disagreed simply did not know any better. Alex was not comfortable being on the receiving end of such imperious dismissiveness, and he decided to let the matter rest for now; he'd said all he had to say.

"Then I shall have to apologize to the Abbess the next time I am at Redwall," Urthblood said, closing the subject from his end as well. "But we have more urgent and immediate concerns before us at the moment. Machus, we have rather strayed from your tale. Please continue."

"There's really not much more to tell, My Lord. The run-in with those hares forced us to spend the night up on the high peaks. Keeping warm was quite a challenge, but we all came out all right. This morning we came down the coastal side of the range, and around noon we linked up with Captain Cermak's foraging expedition. Learning that all had gone well for you here and Salamandastron was safely secured, we helped with the foraging. We all started back together around sunset, and, well, here we are."

"And it is well that you are," said Urthblood. "We will soon need every defender that we have."

"That's true," Mina nodded. "When those twenty hares we met coming over the mountain get to Redwall, Urthfist will have his full complement of Long Patrol with him. Then he will undoubtedly make his way back here with all the speed he can."

"And that speed is not to be underestimated," Urthblood said. "The good news is that he will have only eighty hares with him, not the full hundred."

"But, My Lord," Machus stammered, "those twenty we passed on the mountain ... "

"Are probably crossing the Western Plains as we speak, bound for Redwall. But my brother and the other fourscore hares of the Patrols rounded the south end of the range this morning. They are already on the coastlands. They will be here within the next two days - perhaps tomorrow, if they travel hard."

Everybeast around the table gaped in amazement, but none moreso than Alex, Mina and Machus.

"That can't be, My Lord!" the swordfox exclaimed.

"Halpryn and Klystra both spotted the formation on their survey flights today. It is rather hard to mistake an armored badger and eighty hares for anything else."

"Yes, but ... " Machus shook his head, trying to picture the chain of events in his mind. "I just don't see it, My Lord. We left them behind at Redwall, and we took a short cut. Even with our slight detour to throw off pursuit, we should still have gotten here farther ahead of them than this."

"Perhaps they left Redwall later on the same day that you did," Urthblood suggested.

"Even so ... " Machus again shook his head dubiously.

"Urthfist was pretty intent on getting into the Abbey to inspect it," Alex said, "to see for himself that none of your troops remained there. And the Abbess was going to keep them waiting outside for awhile after we left, until we could get well away. Redwall's a big place. It would take a fair amount of time for even eighty hares to check it from top to bottom and wall to wall. My guess would be that they didn't leave until the day after we did, at the earliest."

"That would make even less sense," Machus argued.

"Then there can be only one possible explanation," said Urthblood. "My brother must be pushing his hares hard, with virtually no stops for rest or eating. That is the only way they could have come so far so fast."

"Those will be some mighty tired hares by the time they get here," said Machus.

"Maybe too tired to fight?" Winokur added hopefully.

"Perhaps," Urthblood said. "But we must also remember that they follow the lead of my brother, and all evidence points to the likelihood that he will be of no mind to talk, no matter what his physical state may be. Therefore, we must be prepared for and expect an assualt from them as soon as they arrive."

"We'll be ready for them," said the mouse captain Abellon. "We've only three entrances to defend, and ammunition stockpiled at every window slit. They won't be able to get in."

"Nor will we be able to get out," Urthblood countered, "if our attackers decide to place Salamandastron under siege. I will not be held a prisoner in my own fortress. We will meet them on the slopes outside, in force."

The captains were visibly dismayed by this announcement. Who wanted to go out and face the Long Patrols in open battle when they could sit safe and snug within this fortified mountain, picking off intruders from the sheltered vantage of windows and tunnel mouths?

Saybrook said as much. "Pardon me, M'Lord, but we could open ourselves to heavy losses that way. Shouldn't our main goal be keepin' those rascals outta here, rather than goin' out an' pickin' a fight with 'em?"

"We could very easily keep them out, Captain, which would leave them no other choice but to keep us in. It has been many generations since Salamandastron last housed an army of our size. The basement spring is running sluggish these days, and you yourself know only too well from going through our storerooms that our food stocks would not last a season without resupply. Our superior numbers which would give us an advantage on the battlefield would doom us in any prolonged siege. No, we will meet them outside. If they are set upon war, we shall give them war. And make them regret it."

"Excuse me, My Lord," Winokur said, raising a paw as if he were in one of Brother Geoff's classes, "but this affects me somewhat, seeing as how I came here to stop what you're about to start. It seems to me that your proposed pose would be provoking to your brother. Have you decided then that talking with him is totally off the table?"

"Not at all. If they arrive in an exhausted state, this show of force might be just the thing to bring them to the negotiating table. The Long Patrol might be made to see this, even if my brother doesn't. In such a case, your services as a mediator might very much be needed."

"Well, let's hope so," Winokur said, mollified.

Urthblood said to the entire assembly, "If they travel by night, as I suspect they might, they should be visible from the crater rim by morning. We will have plenty of time to gauge their approach, and get ourselves in good position before their arrival. We can place the bulk of our forces outside, since only a token guard will be necessary to protect each entrance."

"What about the sleeping gas?" Mattoon asked.

"Any fighting with the hares is likely to be close-quarters style. The Flitchaye oil would not be of any use, since it would affect both sides. It might work in helping to defend the tunnels, however. If a group of hares gets through or around our lines outside and tries to fight its way in, we could flood the passage with the gas. They would pass out if they tried to get through it, deeper into the mountain."

Urthblood turned to face the vermin captains Mattoon, Bandon, Perrett, Lorsch and Cermak. "We will adopt the standard deployment that we use in the Northlands: weasels, stoats and ferrets forming a long-reach line behind the forward rat ranks. Do not despair. Today I opened up a special armory, a secret hoard containing generations' worth of the finest weaponry forged by Badger Lords by bygone ages. These you may distribute among your brigades as you see fit. I would not send you out to stand in the vanguard against the Long Patrol without some advantage. When you face my brother's hares, you and your troops will carry arms which are among the finest ever crafted by any creature in the history of the world. And if that does not bring Urthfist to the bargaining table, then I do not know what will."

00000000000

After the meeting of the captains broke up, Winokur took Alex and Mina on a guided tour through most of Salamandastron. Since the young otter was himself still getting acquainted with the multi-level maze of tunnels, chambers, halls, alcoves, rooms, dead ends and stairways, the experience proved to be more of an adventure that it might have been otherwise.

"Let's see ... that stairwell there leads up to the level where Lord Urthblood is working and asked us not to go ... or was that the last set of stairs we passed? Maybe this is the one that goes all the way up to the roof. Oh, well - one way to find out!"

As they strolled the passages, Winokur regaled the two squirrels with the full tale of the journey from Redwall to Salamandastron, and the successful capture of the mountain fortress. He spent a lot of time on their encounter with Log-a-Log and the Guosim shrews, dwelling upon the discovery of the improbable searat craft, the daring rescue of the slaves, and Urthblood's treatment of the enemy crew.

"A ship that travels underwater ..." Alex shook his head. "Who would have supposed that the lands would be exposed to a danger like that? Looks to me like Tratton's the one who's gonna cause this great crisis of Urthblood's. With a weapon like that, it's gotta be. What did the hares have to say when you told them all of this?"

Winokur opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Would you believe it, Alex, I don't recall that we ever did."

"Well, why in the name of acorns not?"

"Never got around to it," Winokur said. "At first, Colonel Clewiston didn't really want to talk to me at all. I'm not even sure he fully believed I was a Redwaller, so that tells you where he was coming from. And then later, when Urthblood invited him to dinner, well, it wasn't a very cordial scene, as you can imagine. Tempers were flaring, wine was flying ... what it all came down to was two beasts talking at each other and neither one really hearing what the other was saying. No, wait, that's not altogether fair. Urthblood made a valiant effort to keep properly respectful toward the Colonel, even after Clewiston splashed that wine into his face. But still, you had Urthblood over here, and those hares over here," Winokur held his paws wide apart in front of him, "and never the twain did meet."

"Well, Winokur, at least you got to see for yourself that Lord Urthblood's no friend of searats," said Mina. "The very idea! It's utterly preposterous, and only shows how offbase those hares are. And you, Alex," she turned her gaze to her fellow squirrel, "what was all that about earlier? Calling Lord Urthblood into question like an untrustworthy villain, right in front of all his captains! What were you thinking?"

"Well, you have to admit, Mina," Alex responded unapologetically, "it certainly looks as if Urthblood used Redwall for his own ends. By his own admission, he sent Browder to Salamandastron with false stories about a slaughter at the Abbey. Never mind what he said about that being some kind of test; if he was concerned enough about Urthfist's state of mind to send Browder in the first place, then he must have known his own actions would be the very thing to make Urthfist leave here and go to Redwall. He used Browder to draw his brother out of Salamandastron so that he could conquer it more easily, and that's all there is to it!"

"So what if he did?" Mina retorted. "Feeding false reports to the enemy is a perfectly legitimate military strategy. We do it all the time in the Northlands."

"So you're saying Urthblood considered his brother an enemy, even before he came down to Redwall?"

"A potential enemy," Mina suggested.

"Obviously so, since he brought enough of that sleeping gas with him from the Northlands to put all of Salamandastron to sleep. He knew all along he would have to capture this place! Before he even arrived at Redwall, he knew it! So why didn't he tell us, Mina? Until Hanchett came, he made it sound as if everything between him and Urthfist was just fine. He set up events so that Urthfist was almost certain to come to Redwall. Urthblood involved us in a dangerous situation that had nothing to do with us. And those aren't the actions of a friend, or an ally."

"I seem to recall Lord Urthblood warning the Abbess most explicitly that Urthfist might come to Redwall," Mina replied stiffly. "Machus and his company were left behind at the Abbey for precisely that eventuality."

"If Urthfist had come to Redwall of his own accord, that's very different from being lured there by Urthblood," Alex argued. "And if Urthblood knew for a fact that his brother was on his way to Redwall, that's very different from just a suspicion that he 'might' show up."

Mina scoffed. "How could he have known for sure? He was at Redwall, and his brother was all the way out here at Salamandaston."

"Yes ... and Urthblood told us just a short while ago how his bird scouts spied Urthfist two days out from here. One of those birds could probably fly from here to Redwall in less than a day. And an owl of his did come to the Abbey the night before Urthblood announced his intention to leave. I think Urthblood waited until his birds reported to him that his brother had left Salamandastron before he left Redwall himself. That would mean an unreasonable and dangerous beast was on its way to our home by Urthblood's own arrangement, and he knew it, and he didn't tell us!"

"You can't know for a fact that that's what happened," said Mina.

"I doubt he'd tell me if I asked him."

"Alex!" Mina's tail bristled in agitation. "This is a noble and fated Lord you're talking about! You wouldn't say such things if you'd seen for yourself some of what he's accomplished in the Northlands. Lord Urthblood has always done what is best for the goodbeasts of the lands!"

"Maybe so, Mina. But I can only judge him by what I've seen of him in the time that I've known him. And his methods do seem underpawed to me."

"Yet good and decent creatures are alive now who would otherwise not be, thanks to those methods. You yourself called Urthfist dangerous and beyond reason; that much you have seen with your own eyes. If Lord Urthblood resorted to tactics such as he used, you can be sure it was only because he could see no other way to safeguard the best interests of the lands."

"Or to safeguard Salamandastron for himself," Alex said.

"Which might be the same thing," said Mina.

"Ahem!" Winokur cleared his throat behind them, causing the two word-sparring squirrels to glance back at him over their shoulders. "Should we be looking for separate rooms, then? Or is this spat all just for my amusement?"

Alex and Mina looked at each other, then laughed. "Sorry, Wink," chuckled Alex, "didn't mean to give you such an earful! We're just having a difference of opinion - "

"So I noticed."

Mina took Alexander's paw in her own. "Let's not squabble anymore, Alex. We could be facing battle tomorrow. We should enjoy each other's company while we may."

"Agreed," Alex nodded emphatically. "We'll leave this discussion lying right where it was, and maybe pick it up again after we see how things turn out."

"If it even still matters then." Mina turned to the otter. "I notice you stayed out of the conversation, Winokur. What are your views on what we were discussing?"

"Whoa," Wink held up both paws, "I'm the peacemaker here, remember? And I just got to try my paw at making peace between the two of you. Worked out pretty well, so I ought not to go undoing my own best efforts, eh?"

Alex looked at Mina. "We'll take that as a 'no comment' from the otter!"

A clinking and bustling sound came from a side tunnel off ahead of them. Urthblood emerged into the main passage, bearing a sack slung over his shoulder that was so heavily laden with armaments that the badger needed both paws to carry it. He seemed mildly started to find the trio here.

"Oh, sorry, M'Lord!" Winokur quickly offered. "We didn't mean to disturb you. I was just trying to find some beds for these two. We must have strayed up here by mistake. I'm still getting the hang of this place, you know."

"I'm afraid beds are in short supply this night," Urthblood said. "I've ordered all my troops to get a full night's sleep, to be ready for tomorrow. Some of my moles and hedgehogs are sleeping on flour sacks down in the kitchens, and Machus and his foxes have had to make do with spare mats and blankets on the dining hall floor. You will have to join them there, I regret."

"We'll just be happy to get off our footpaws after the march here from Redwall, Lord," Alex said cordially. "A blanket on the floor will still be a big improvement over that freezing mountain pass last night."

"Then to the dining hall we go!" Winokur glanced up and down the corridor, uncertainty on his face. "Um, er, just which way would that be, My Lord?"

"I am on my way there now," Urthblood rumbled. "I'm setting out the better weapons on the main table so the troops can be equipped first thing in the morning. Follow me."

They fell into step behind the badger warrior, the swaying weapons sack over his back hiding almost all of his impressive bulk from their eyes.

"I say, Lord, do you want anybeast to lend a paw with your task?" Alex inquired. "That's an awful lot for one beast to manage, even a beast of your size."

"These weapons come from a vault where only the Lords of the Mountain may set foot. It will only take several trips to bring what is needed down to the dining hall. I will do it myself."

"What about your sleep, My Lord?" Mina asked, concerned. "This will take you all night."

"Look to yourselves, Lady. I will have all the time for sleep that I need after the battle ... if there is to be a battle. Until then, sleep is a luxury I cannot afford."

Alex, Mina and Winokur exchanged glances in the dim tunnel, but said nothing in response as they followed Urthblood down to the dining hall.


	3. Chapter 65

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Sixty-Five

Alex and Mina did end up sleeping on empty food sacks off to the side of the dining hall floor, along with Machus's foxes. Winokur bade them goodnight, then went outside to sleep on the warm beach sands on the seaward side of the mountain, where his father and all of Saybrook's otter squad were encamped for the night. The soft, yielding sand that had been such a nuisance to march upon made a perfect bedding as it slowly released the heat it had absorbed from the sun during the day. Come morning, they would simply wash away all the grains that had stuck to them during the night with a quick ocean swim, then march up into Salamandastron for breakfast and their day's orders from Urthblood.

Several times during the night, Alex and Mina were brought partway awake by the muted clinking and occasional soft ringing of the fine arms that Urthblood was removing from his sack to lay out on display upon the big central table. That area of the hall had been kept clear of slumbering beasts so that the badger warrior could work unencumbered there. The squirrels would lift their heads just enough to glimpse the solitary hulking figure in the dim lamplight, intent upon its tireless task. Then, secure in the knowledge that all was as it should be, they would lie back down, close their eyes and drift off again, dreaming mostly about each other.

Finally they awoke to see Machus and the other foxes rousing themselves. The lamplight was still dim, but since the dining hall had no windows, being deep within the mountain, there was no way to tell the time. Alex sat up, pawing the sleep from his eyes. "Morning already, Machus? Feel like it's only been a short nap."

"Not quite sunrise," the swordfox replied. "Our otter friends are out having their morning swim. I hear they've had great success these past two days rounding up some tasty treats from the sea. Maybe they'll be able to get a little more fishing in today, depending on how close Urthfist is."

"Any word on that?" Mina asked.

"Lord Urthblood went up to the mountaintop a short while ago," Machus replied. "My guess is, it's still not light enough to tell for sure. They might not be within sight even after the sun clears the mountains. Urthfist may not get here today at all. We won't know for certain until full light."

Alex wasn't convinced. "Urthblood sure had his troops sleeping last night as if he expects the battle to come today."

"As well it might. Either way, he wants us ready for it at any time ... and that means getting an early start on things." Machus glanced around the dining hall. "We'll have to take breakfast in shifts, since the main table isn't available. Captain Bremo has his shrews getting the food ready now, so they can feed themselves and the moles first. Those side tables look like they can hold about threescore beasts altogether, so I'll rouse that many at a time. We'll let the rats, weasels, stoats and ferrets go last, since they'll be in the front lines of any battle, and they can use the extra rest. Hmm ... we'll also want to light some torches, get it up to daytime brightness in here. Don't want any of the troops falling asleep in their chow!"

"We'll help with that," Alex volunteered. "I used to lend Brother Jerome a paw sometimes at Redwall, getting all the torches and lamps lit for the night throughout the Abbey. Let's see how much of my fire skills I remember!"

With Alex and Mina's assistance there were quickly over a dozen torches at full blaze ensconced in wall brackets around the dining hall. They were still a poor substitute for windows, but they did brighten the cavernous chamber considerably. By now, the aroma of hot shrewcakes was filling the hall, and would soon waft up through the mountain to the dormitory levels where most of the army lay sleeping.

"Waking these goldbricks up won't be the problem once they get a noseful of that smell," Machus quipped, "keeping them in bed will be!"

Now that there was plenty of light to see by, Alex and Mina walked over to the main table to view the results of Urthblood's labors from the night just ended. Their eyes nearly popped out of their heads as they beheld the array of weaponry painstakingly laid out across the tabletop and leaning against it; even the long benches supported various artifacts of war. There were well over a hundred swords displayed side by side, of every imaginable shape and kind: sabres and rapiers, broadswords and cutlasses, claymores and scimitars, basket-hilts and daggers. Pommel stones abounded, of ruby and emerald, jade and sapphire, garnet and turquoise; and the flawless blades glittered with deadly perfection. Equal in number to the swords were spears and lances and javelins, leaning up along one side of the table as if standing at attention; these too were fabulous in their design, a blending of precious metals with the finest of woodcraft to result in weapons fit for nobility. Also present were battle axes, on short handles or long poles, and halberds; elegant maces studded with sharpened diamonds; and war hammers of such perfect balance that even a shrew would be able to dent the thickest armor with one. For defense, scores of round and rectangular personal shields stood on edge against the benches on the other side of the table. These were the most splendid of all, for their faces were enameled with patterns and paintings which truly were works of art. Any army equipped with the armaments arrayed here would be as beautiful to gaze upon as it would be deadly to engage.

"This is ... fantastic," Alex breathed.

A voice came from over his shoulder. "Yeah, ain't it? Almost makes me wish I was a vermin, so I'd get t' stand in the front lines and use this stuff m'self."

Alex glanced back. "Oh, hello, Warny. Wink." The fur of the father and son otters was slick, indicating they'd been swimming very recently. "I hadn't realized you'd come in."

"Hardly surprisin'," said Warnokur. "This load o' battle baubles is enuff t' dazzle an' distract anybeast. Why Urthblood's savin' it fer all his lower classes is beyond me."

"Not good manners speaking of your fellow soldierbeasts like that," Mina said to Warnokur. "Some of Lord Urthblood's rats and weasels are as brave as any otter, and loyal as any mouse. And they'll be the ones who'll be facing Urthfist and the Long Patrol first, if it does come to open battle. Of course the best weapons should be reserved for them. It's only fair."

"Oh, I s'pose. When you put it that way." Warnokur reached out to a javelin and twiddled it in his paw. "Mighty fine work, this. Wouldn't mind havin' a few o' these fer m'self. Mebbe if everything works out okay, Lord Urthblood'll let a few of us grunts have our pick of some o' this."

"I doubt it," said Mina. "This came from the secret treasure stores of Salamandastron, remember. I'd wager that when battle's done, it'll all go back where it came from."

"Oh." Warnokur protruded his lower lip in a disappointed pout.

"It is magnificent," Winokur said. "It's easy to see how the skill and knowledge that went into making all this was the same used to create the sword of Martin. I just never would have guessed there was so much of it - not in all the world!"

"Badgers can live up to four times as long as mice and squirrels and other beasts," Mina intoned, "and there have been many, many Lords of the Mountain. Their stewardship of Salamandastron reaches far back into history, even by their own measure. It's hardly surprising that so many generations of such long-lived creatures might produce so impressive a hoard as this."

"And well that they did," said Alex, "for the sake of Lord Urthblood's rats and weasels. I wonder if any of these weapons have ever seen use before? They all look brand new."

"Certainly not by the likes of those who're gonna wield 'em today," Warnokur muttered. Mina gave him a sharp glance. "Hey, just' statin' th' simple truth!" he protested.

"So, where is Lord Urthblood?" Winokur asked.

"Up topside," Mina said, "looking out for his brother's force."

"Y' don't suppose they're in sight yet, huh?" Warnokur wondered.

"One way to find out," said Alex. "Let's go up and see for ourselves."

00000000000

The eastern sky above the mountaintops glowed with the rosy hues of dawn. The sun, not yet visible even from Salamandastron's high plateau, lit the dome of the sky from behind the edge of the world, revealing a morning clear of clouds. Large numbers of seagulls wheeled and swooped all around the solitary mountain fortress and out over the coastal waters, vying with the otters for morsels from the sea. Their piercing cries and the barely-heard wavewash were the only sounds disturbing the tranquility of the scene.

Urthblood stood alone at the south crater rim, gazing into the distance.

Winokur, Warnokur, Alex and Mina climbed the final set of stairs and stepped up onto the plateau. Klystra the falcon and Halpryn the kite were nowhere to be seen; this was their time for flying off and foraging for themselves. The four companions crossed to where the Badger Lord contemplated the southern coastal horizon.

"Good morning, Lord," Mina said as they drew abreast of him. "Any sign?"

Urthblood pointed over the rim wall. "See for yourselves."

The two otters squinted. Their eyes were unmatched for seeing underwater, but when it came to distance, they were no match for their squirrel friends. "Coast looks clear t' me, M'Lord," Warnokur concluded.

"It's not," said Alex. "I can see them."

"Me, too," Mina concurred. "Closer than the horizon by a good stretch, from the look of it, although I can't tell for sure in this early light." She turned to Urthblood. "I don't understand. How could they get so near this quickly?"

"My brother has obviously kept up his march through the night, with little if any time spent stopping for rest. If he and his hares are keeping to a half-run, that would explain their present position."

"My Lord, they must be dead on their footpaws, if they've kept this pace all the way from Redwall!" Alex exclaimed.

"They'd had to have," said Mina. "No other way they could be here by now."

"Not so hard on the Long Patrol," Urthblood rumbled. "Hares are made for long runs. They will be more bothered by the lack of sleep than anything else. My brother, on the other paw, could not be accustomed to such exertion as this. This is especially true if he is wearing armor, as I assume he is."

"Yes, he is," Mina confirmed. "Or at least he was, when he was at Redwall."

"Then it may be that his mania drives him so completely that he is not even aware how dangerously he is pushing himself."

"Any chance he could collapse 'fore he comes knockin' at our door?" Warnokur asked hopefully. "Not that I'd wish any real harm on th' brute, unnerstand, but it shore would solve our problems, eh?"

"Not much chance of that," answered Urthblood. "A badger consumed by such purpose, be he sane or not, is capable of feats of endurance beyond any other creature. With his goal in sight, he will only be spurred on all the harder. Anything is possible, but I for one am not counting upon his body failing him. Not in time to make any difference to us, at any rate."

The others were silent for some moments, as the day continued to brighten around them.

Mina at last broke the spell. "So, they'll be here sometime today?"

"This afternoon." Urthblood turned and strode purposefully toward the stairs. "And we must be ready to meet them, whatever they intend."


	4. Chapter 66

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Sixty-Six

In the wake of Urthfist's departure, Redwall enjoyed a welcome period of peace and normalcy as the lives of the Abbeyfolk settled back into the ordinary routine of things, more or less. Of course, concern for Alexander, Winokur and Warnokur was ever in the hearts and minds of everybeast, nor could it be forgotten that the spectre of war might be abroad in the lands. Even if that strife never encroached upon this part of Mossflower or claimed the lives of loved ones closer to the fighting, the mere possibility that such dire conflict might erupt at any time (if it hadn't already) hung over the Abbey like an invisible shadow, dulling the clear summer mornings and making the glorious afternoons somehow less bright.

The little ones were less preoccupied by these worries than were their elders. Redwall's children were too busy enjoying life one day at a time to take anymore than fleeting notice of the anxiety that caused so many furrowed brows of worry among the adults. Helping to keep the youngbeasts diverted and carefree was the novelty of having a weasel living at the Abbey.

Montybank, with some considerable encouragement from Abbess Vanessa, made Smallert an honorary otter of his crew. Since there were no other weasels staying at Redwall - or stoats or ferrets, for that matter - Vanessa felt it was very important that Smallert be "adopted" by one of the Abbey's usual classes of creature. This would help him to fit in and feel at home more quickly. Being rather short and slight for his species, Smallert was actually closer in size to squirrels than to otters. But Elmwood was, to put it mildly, cool toward the idea of having anything to do with the weasel, and anyway it was ridiculous to think of Smallert venturing out with the Mossflower Patrol on one of their rapid excursions through the treetops. Then again, Smallert wasn't a very good paw at swimming either, but Monty and Vanessa were willing to overlook this shortcoming. Much of what the otters normally did around the Abbey had nothing to do with water; being second only to Maura in strength and brawn, they often just kept themselves free to lend their muscle to any odd tasks and chores that needed doing. In this respect Smallert quickly proved his worth, for what he lacked in height he made up for in strength, being the former champion wrestler that he was. In orchard and garden, kitchen and cellars, everywhere in the Abbey, Smallert was only too happy to pitch in and help wherever he was needed, in a wide variety of tasks. Which was well for him, since his attempts at learning to ring the bells at the side of Cyril and Cyrus had turned out to be something of a disaster. Some beasts were born without an iota of natural rhythm in their bones, and Smallert was one of these. After half a day of trying his paw on the bellropes, the Abbess herself had climbed the belltower to put a stop to the halting cacaphony and firmly inform Smallert he would have to find some other way to earn his keep ... much to the relief of the other Redwallers.

Maura, Geoff and many of the others who'd worried about the safety of having such a creature living amongst them, particularly where the children were concerned, found their fears unrealized. Smallert acted as a perfect gentlebeast during this trial period, knowing full well that he would have to be on his best behavior at all times if he wished to remain a permanent member of Redwall's community. Not only did he acquit himself responsibly in all the chores he was assigned, but he accepted these assignments eagerly and with good cheer, cooperated politely and deferentially with everybeast with whom he worked, asked frequent questions to make sure he was doing things right, and put as much effort into his labors as he saw the others around him doing. During meals and other times of relaxation, Smallert was somewhat withdrawn and not very outgoing, preferring to speak only when spoken to, although he remained courteous and respectful toward everybeast. Perhaps he was afraid of appearing unrefined and rough around the edges, or accidentally embarrassing himself by saying or doing something that would be taken as awkward or unacceptable to the gentle folk he now dwelt amongst. He acted almost like a servant, at the beck and call of whatever master needed him at any given moment, here only at the sufference of beasts who were judging his every word and movement and might cast him out at the first minor affront or hint of dissatisfaction he gave them.

The only times he loosened up and became openly friendly, it seemed, was when he was with Cyril and Cyrus. Smallert had formed a special bond with the young mouse brothers, and he spent more time with them than with any of the Abbey grownups. And the other children, seeing how well Cyril and Cyrus got on with Smallert, quickly overcame any initial wariness they harbored about the weasel and began joining the trio on their walks and rests. To almost everybeast's amazement, it turned out that Smallert had a natural way with youngsters, amusing them with his Northlands accent and rustic manner and simple comments that made them laugh and titter. Most of the time Smallert didn't seem to realize he'd said anything funny and was visibly befuddled by the reaction he got - which only made his youthful audience laugh all the harder. He would always end up grinning lopsidedly and then joining in with chuckles of his own. Once, when Maura asked him whether he didn't mind being laughed at in this way, he simply replied that the sound of children's laughter was something he'd never heard very much in the north, and it was a sound to be cherished.

On this particular day, Smallert had drawn lookout duty on the walltop. The two warring Badger Lords and their forces might be gone, and a sense of calm and security might have settled over this part of Mossflower, but recent events had gotten the Redwallers into the habit of keeping to a regular sentry rotation. The view from the ramparts gave a sweeping panorama of the surrounding countryside in all directions. The lessons of Urthblood would not be forgotten by the Abbey's leaders anytime soon; no enemy would be catching Redwall by surprise.

After all the heavy labor he'd undertaken during his first few days as a Redwaller, sentry duty was like a vacation for Smallert. The biggest challenge of the assignment was keeping properly alert and not allowing his attention to wander into the territory of daydreams. But Smallert had stood his share of watches under Urthblood's command in the north. For him, slipping back into a soldierly routine was no problem, as long as he wasn't called upon to do any actual fighting. He was still sworn to his pledge never to harm another creature again if he could help it.

Cyrus was getting stronger every day, and it was now difficult to look at him and believe he was the same mouse who'd been at death's door so recently. Indeed, he was spending more and more time playing with his young friends, just as any youngbeast his age would normally do, although he did keep his running and roughhousing to a minimum. Maura and the Abbess still would not permit him to return to his old task of ringing the bells, concerned that he might strain his stitches pulling on the ropes, and so Maura continued to assist Cyril in that role.

Normally Cyril and Cyrus would not think of bothering their new weasel friend while he was working. But lookout duty was very different from the kind of chores Smallert had been doing, so they went up to the battlements to sit with him and keep Smallert company as he stood his watch. Smallert was glad for their companionship, but he did not let their presence distract him from his purpose. Thus it was that he was the first one at Redwall to spot the approaching hares.

Cyril noticed right away when the weasel stiffened to attention, his gaze turned out to the Western Plains. "What is it, Smallert?" the older mouse brother asked.

"We got company comin', Master Cyril." Smallert had adopted the moles' habit of addressing the children as "master" after a day spent helping Foremole's crew in the gardens.

Cyril and Cyrus got up on their sandal-tips to peer over the battlements and follow Smallert's gaze. Now that they knew where to look, they could see quite easily what had caught the lookout's attention; their eyesight was at least the equal of Smallert's, even if they lacked the older beast's patience and attentiveness.

"They're hares, aren't they?" Cyrus asked.

"No other creatures that could move across the Plains like that," Smallert confirmed with a nod.

"They're really running," Cyril observed. "And making straight for the Abbey. I wonder if something's chasing them?"

"Find out soon 'nuff when they get here," said Smallert. "Guess we'd better let th' rest of the Abbey know." He glanced around until he spotted a squirrel sentry farther around the walltop. Shouting to get his fellow lookout's attention, Smallert motioned the squirrel over to him.

In the time it took for him to reach Smallert and the two mice, the fast-moving group of hares had drawn close enough to make out that a solitary member of their troop was out in front of the rest, and by a very wide margin. It almost looked like he was a lone individual and not with the other hares, yet the larger group followed an identical course in his wake. It was some moments before the sharper-eyed squirrel came to the obvious conclusion.

"I think they're chasing that one out front."

"I think ye're right," agreed Smallert. "Like an angry mob on th' heels of somebeast they're out t' get."

"I don't understand," said Cyrus. "They're all hares, aren't they? Why'd they be chasing one of their own?"

"Dunno." Smallert scratched at his jaw. "But I seen mobs before, an' they ain't purty. An' that gang outnumbers him by quite a few."

"About a score in the main group, by my counting." The squirrel pulled away from the battlements and headed toward the wall stairs. "I'll go inform Elmwood and Montybank. You keep an eye on them, weasel."

Cyril watched the bushytailed beast flit down the steps and race across the lawns. "That was rather rude of him, calling you weasel," he said to Smallert with a twinge of ire. "You do have a name, after all."

"An' I reckon he'll get t' learn it by 'n' by," Smallert replied, not at all upset by the squirrel's superior manner. "But fer now, he's right. Our job's t' keep watch on them hares."

And that's just what they did. While the Abbey leaders were being alerted, the solitary hare came to the edge of the wide Plains just across the road from the main gate. By now it was clear that he'd held more of a lead over his pursuers than it first appeared. But at the speed with which hares could run, that gap would quickly close if the lead hare stopped for any length of time.

The single hare took the roadside drainage ditch in a single practiced bound and skidded to a halt in the dirt path, kicking up puffs of dust as he slid to a standstill. Looking up at Smallert and the two mice, he waved his paws and waggled his ears frantically.

"Hullo! Hullo up there, I say! Beast in distress! Lemme in! They're tryin' t' kill me! Lemme in, or I'm a deadbeast!"

Smallert stared down at the pleading creature. "I ... I think I know that hare," he murmured, almost to himself.

"You do?" Cyril asked in surprise. "Is he one of the Long Patrols?"

"Oh no. But I'd wager them that're chasin' him are. An' I do believe they would kill 'im, just as he's sayin'." Smallert turned to Cyril and Cyrus. "We gotta let 'im in right quick if we don't want a dead hare out there. You two, run down an' tell those otters at the front gate it's okay t' open up fer him. They'll lissen t' you mouse lads better'n they would t' me."

"All right. Leave it to us! C'mon, Cy!" Cyril led the way down the wall stairs, taking them three at a time and calling out to the otter guards while he was still halfway along the flight. Cyrus lagged behind, only taking two steps at a bound himself, but both made it down to the lawns in very good time indeed.

The anxious hare had come over to the heavy gate and pounded on its solid wood with his fist. "Hey, in there! Open up, fer th' love o' fur! Sanctuary! I'm requestin' sanctuary! Lemme in, please!" His voice was quite panicked now.

The two mouse brothers reached the inside of the gate and delivered Smallert's imperative to the otter sentries. The brawny guards heard Cyril and Cyrus out, then began to unbolt the gate while Smallert looked on from above. Satisfied that they were complying, the weasel leaned out over the battlements to assure the waiting hare that he would be admitted momentarily.

The hare was nowhere to be seen.

Smallert cast his gaze left and right - or rather right to left, and glimpsed a rapidly-receding white bobtail as it disappeared around the south corner of the outer wall. Apparently the hare didn't think the Redwallers were going to let him in quickly enough, and was racing around the wall to put more distance between himself and the other hares. Smallert looked out to the Plains. That gang would reach the ditch shortly, true, but if their intented victim hadn't panicked and fled, there would have been plenty of time for him to get safely inside the Abbey. His impatience had actually increased his chances of being caught!

Smallert shouted down to the otters, "He's gone 'round to th' south side! Somebeast get over an' unlock the gate fer 'im there!"

The otters reversed themselves, securely re-locking the main gate. "Run after him, along the walltop!" Montybank yelled up to Smallert. "Keep an eye on him, an' tell that flop-eared fool we'll let him in if he stands still long enuff!"

"Uh, right!" Smallert sprinted along the ramparts, wishing for a hare's speed himself. On the grounds below, Vanessa, Brother Geoff and Elmwood had emerged from the Abbey and joined the otters in hastening across to the south wallgate. When he got to the southeast corner of the walltop, Smallert paused and searched about the meadow for any sign of the fleeing hare. But the vantage did not give a clear view along the outer base of the south wall, and Smallert could not see whether the hare had stopped at the wallgate there or kept on going. "Hold on down there, bucko!" he called out to the unseen creature. "We'll let ya in - jus' stay put at one o' the doors!" With no way of knowing whether his words of encouragement had reached their intended target, Smallert raced on.

Moments later, Smallert stood directly above the south wallgate. Breathing hard from his running, he leaned out over the wall and looked straight down. It was a dizzying drop, the equal of several stories, and he quickly pulled his head back. But the brief glimpse was enough; the hare was nowhere along the south wall.

Vanessa and the others had reached the inside of the gate. "Sorry, ma'am," Smallert reported, "but he ain't there! Must've kept goin' - mebbe 'ee wanted to put the Abbey 'tween him an' them other hares."

"If that's true, then he'll be around at the east gate," the Abbess yelled up. "We'll meet you there, Smallert."

"Yes, ma'am!" Smallert raised his paw in a half-salute out of habit, then remembered where he was, lowered it and resumed his dash along the walltop walkway.

It was clear long before any of them got there that the hare was indeed outside the east gate. The squirrels stationed there had already been roused by his desperate pounding and pleas for admittance, and stood debating amongst themselves whether to open the gate to see what beast wanted into the Abbey so badly.

"Let him in!" Smallert shouted down at them from the ramparts.

"Let him in!" Vanessa shouted from across the lawns.

Under this double barrage, the squirrels immediately unfastened the gate and threw it open.

The hare practically spilled inside the Abbey, falling and rolling upon the grass in his haste to be inside the thick, high walls.

While the squirrels secured the gate once more, Vanessa and her group came to stand over the newcomer. Smallert hastened down the south wall steps to join them. Maura and some of the children wandered over from the north grounds, drawn by the commotion. Cyril, Cyrus and the otters brought up the rear behind the Abbess. An instant crowd formed there on the east lawn, their focus the lone hare who sat panting upon the grass.

"Quite an entrance," Vanessa commented.

The hare grinned irrepressibly. "Grand entrances my specialty." He popped to his feet like a marionette jerked upright by unseen strings, and bowed an elegant leg. "The Mother Abbess of Redwall, I presume?"

"That I am. And you would be?"

Before the hare could answer, Smallert shouldered his way forward through the assembled beasts and stood looking at the stranger.

"Browder? Browder, is that you?"

00000000000

For long moments the Redwallers stood staring at the hare, saying nothing. Some of the showy flamboyance drained from his smile as he saw how closely the Abbeybeasts were scrutinizing him. Turning to the weasel who'd called him by name, he asked, "Pardon me, weaselface, but do I know you?"

"Um, Private Smallert, formerly of Lord Urthblood's service. I saw you a few times, up in the north. Don't reckon we was ever properly introduced, though. Not surprisin' you don't remember me, there was lots o' weasels in my squad. I remember you, tho'. T'weren't all that many hares hangin' about with our crowd ... an' even fewer who were players."

Vanessa stared at the hare. "So, you're THE Browder we've been hearing so much about."

His grin wavered uncertainly. "Ah, um, er ... Ah! I see my reputation precedes me! Hope it's good things you've been hearin', tho' I don't fathom how it could be otherwise. Take great pride in my talents, don'tcha know. Most widely acclaimed hare player in th' Northlands an' beyond, you're lookin' at. Why, I've even performed by special request for the ruling court o' Noonvale."

"Indeed?" Vanessa regarded him severely. "Most interesting. But it is your recent performance at Salamandastron that I shall want to hear about before anything."

"Oh ... oh, that!" Browder was plainly struggling now to keep his smile from failing altogether. "Yes, um, bit outside my normal repertoire, that was. Be more'n happy to tell you delightful beasties all about it. But, um, first, d' you mind if I have m'self a sit-down? Been on my feet quite a bit, last day or so, an' my stumps feel half worn off."

"You're welcome to the most comfortable seat in the Abbey, if it will persuade you to tell us what we want to hear," said Vanessa. Neither she nor any of the other Redwallers were smiling.

"Oh, smashing. Uh, I could also use some tucker, an' something to wet the ol' whistle. Always heard good things 'bout Redwall hospitality. Wouldn't want you to let slide on yer hard-won reputation, wot?"

"Our hospitality is open to all travelers and journeybeasts of good will," Vanessa said. "Including those other hares who should be at our main gate right about now. Shall I let them in as well?"

Traces of his former panic flashed across Browder's face. "Oh, no! I mean, they're a rather unrefined and rowdy lot. You wouldn't want 'em disruptin' your idyllic little spot here. An' the children, Abbess - you don't want those ruffians around yer little ones. Trust me."

Montybank frowned at Browder. "An' ye're sure yer reasons don't have naught t' do with th' fact that they wanna wring yer neck an' split you from chin t' belly button?"

"Well, yes, there is that." Browder's ears waggled disarmingly.

"They are part of the Long Patrol, I take it?" Vanessa asked.

"Well, Abbess, I reckon so, tho' I didn't get close 'nuff fer formal introductions. Met 'em out on th' Plains ... last place I expected to run inta that bunch. Nearly frighted me fur white as my scut. Good thing I spotted 'em at enuff of a distance that I could make it here without losin' my lead. Got kinda close at the last, tho'."

"We'll want to speak with them." Vanessa turned to the acting head of the Mossflower Patrol. "Elmwood, show Browder down to Cavern Hole and get him settled in with some food and drink. I'm going to see to those Long Patrols at the front gate. I'll be down shortly ... perhaps with some more guests."

Browder blanched. "Please, Abbess! Ain't you sworn t' protect yer visitors while they're stayin' here?"

"That she is." Elmwood grabbed Browder by the sleeve of his jerkin. "And she's also entitled to throw out anybeast who proves more trouble than it's worth. Now come along, and behave, or we'll put you back outside with all your hare friends!"

"Leggo, leggo! I'm comin! I'm comin!"

Vanessa watched Elmwood drag the nervous hare away toward the Abbey, then started across the lawns toward the main west gate. "The rest of you, come with me. If my guess is right, those other hares won't be in an especially good mood. There should be a lot of us there when we talk to them."

00000000000

Colonel Clewiston stood in the road with the rest of his company, gazing at the Abbey wall.

"Why'd we stop?" Lieutenant Gallatin complained, although he was breathing as heavily as the rest of them. "I saw that fink Browder go around the south side. We could still catch him!"

Clewiston held up an authoritative paw to silence his second-in-command. "Either they let him in, or they didn't. If not, he's prob'ly had time to lose himself in those bally woods, an' I'm not about t' go chasin' him through there. World o' difference 'tween followin' somebeast across open plains an' dense forest."

Gallatin fumed, and most of the others shared his sentiments. "We almost had him!"

"Guess it wasn't meant to be, Lieutenant. But we've got more important things before us now." Clewiston returned his attention to the Abbey. "First on th' agenda's to find out whether Lord Urthfist is still here at Redwall."

Peppertail was dubious. "Don't reckon Browder woulda been haulin' his backside here so fast if His Lordship was still here."

"Unless he didn't know." A malicious light gleamed in Gallatin's eye. "Wouldn't that be sweet? If that louse begs his way inside, only to find the paws of the Badger Lord he wronged crushin' his scrawny neck!"

"Or a score o' Long Patrol spears makin' a jolly pincushion outta him," Peppertail added.

"Yah - that's the thing, tho'." Clewiston pointed up to the ramparts. "If Lord Urthfist were here, you could bet he'd have some loyal hares up on those bally battlements, keepin' a sharp watch on things. I don't see any friendly faces. Or any faces at all, fer that matter, although I'm pretty certain somebeast was there a minute ago."

"You think we missed 'em?" Gallatin supposed. "That they're all on their way back to Salamandastron already?"

"We came all this way, so we may's well ask, wot?" Clewiston stepped forward and raised his crudely-hewn staff to rap on the gate. Even as he did so, he heard the sound of the bolt bar being removed from its position. He took a startled step backward. The other hares behind him tensed, grips tight on their various makeshift weapons.

The heavy door opened a short way. Every hare stood poised on the balls of their overlarge feet, ready for anything.

A wave of relief swept over them when the familiar striped head of a badger stuck itself out through the narrow opening to look at them.

"My Lord!" Gallatin couldn't contain himself. "Thank the fates! We thought we'd ... uh ... um ... "

The Lieutenant's voice trailed off into a perplexed muttering. The badger who stepped the rest of the way out from behind the gate was a female, half a head shorter than Urthfist and garbed in a simple and plain smocklike gown.

"I'm afraid you've confused me with somebeast else," she said, without much warmth in her tone. "You're part of the Long Patrol, right?"

Clewiston performed a perfunctory half-bow. "That we are, my good madam. Colonel Clewiston, at yer service."

"Don't need any service," the badger eyed them all rather frostily, "and we don't need any trouble either. The Abbess would like to speak with you, but only if you promise to behave like proper gentlebeasts."

"My good lady! We are hares of the Long Patrol, after all!"

"Yes ... and the last time you were here, you were threatening harm to guests of our Abbey. We'd not care for a repeat of that scene."

Clewiston ran a paw over his pursed lips. "Hmm ... guess that squirrel chap was right. Doesn't sound like Lord Urthfist made very good first impressions with you folk."

"What squirrel?"

"Met him comin' over the mountains. Said he was a Redwaller, but he was in the company of disreputable fox and weasel sorts. Not th' kind o' travellin' companions I'd pick fer m'self."

"What happened to them?" the badger demanded.

"We went our way, they went theirs. Must be at Salamandastron by now. And now, we have some jolly questions of our own - "

"Just want to be clear," she interrupted. "You're the twenty that Urthfist left to guard the mountain, right? You weren't part of the force that was here before?"

"First time any of us has ever been to Redwall, ma'am. Now, about that other force you mentioned - "

"The Abbess will answer all your questions as best she can. But first, your promise to behave yourselves. Well?"

Clewiston raised a paw of pledge. "No trouble, ma'am. I swear it on my reputation as an officer an' a gennelbeast."

"Good. Now lose the staff."

"Huh?"

"The Abbess is unarmed. If you want to talk with her, you'll have to be too. Get rid of your treebranch there, or it's off."

Clewiston shrugged and tossed his knobby staff back to Gallatin, who caught it deftly. The Colonel spread his paws wide before him. "Satisfactory?"

The badger said nothing, but swung open the gate the rest of the way, revealing a large group of woodlanders behind her. Clewiston had assumed he would be escorted into the Abbey, but it now looked like the Abbess was coming out to speak with them here.

A female mouse and a male otter were at the head of the group. Clewiston took the mouse to be the Abbess, but an imposing sword hung at the otter's side; that and the warrior's light in his eyes ruined the impression of him being a meek and peaceful woodlander. Backing these two up were a number of other otters and squirrels and, incongruously, a slender-necked weasel.

Clewiston strove to ignore this last one for now, since it seemed the only vermin around.

"Hello, Colonel," the mouse said. "I'm Abbess Vanessa, and for the sake of expediency let me tell you that I heard every word that was spoken between you and Maura. Your presence here both heartens and distresses us, as does your news of our dear friend Alexander. There are still questions I must ask of you, but you have been most patient, so I will first try to answer a few of yours."

"Much obliged, ma'am. Well, I s'pose our chief concern is findin' Lord Urthfist. We was hopin' t' find him here, but I gather from wot I can see that he 'n' the hares wot were with him have left Redwall."

"That is correct. The day after Urthfist arrived, news reached us that his brother's forces were waylaid in south Mossflower longer than expected. Your master was very concerned for your well-being, and was certain that you had perished, before we learned of Urthblood's delay. He realized he might be able to catch up with Urthblood before he got to Salamandastron, or at the very least arrive at the mountain in time to assist you."

"No such luck, I'm afraid," Clewiston grimaced. "Urthblood's got his bloody claws in Salamandastron now, an' it'll take a war t' get it away from him."

"And yet you're still alive," Vanessa observed.

There was an unspoken criticism in her tone. "Yes?" Clewiston prompted.

"Lord Urthfist was positive that Urthblood would slaughter you when he took Salamandastron. He refused to admit any other possibility. We argued that, should it turn out that Urthblood showed you mercy, it might be grounds upon which to build negotiations or talks between the two Lords. But Urthfist scoffed at such a notion and ridiculed us as naive simplebeasts. And now," Vanessa gestured at Clewiston, "here you turn up very much alive, even as Urthfist storms off to make war on the beast who supposedly would never have let you live."

The Colonel looked at Vanessa askance. "You think that makes Urthblood a goodbeast? My word, I'm inclined to agree with Lord Urthfist about you. You have no idea wot's goin' on here ... with all due respect, ma'am."

The Abbess gaped. "Well, I wouldn't have believed such a thing was possible, but it appears you're as pigheaded as your master."

"Urthblood took Salamandastron like a coward! Turned us outta our own home - "

"His home too," interjected Maura.

" - filled up that honorable place with the vilest horde you've ever seen - "

"We have seen it," said Vanessa. "They were our guests for a time."

"The fact that he spared our lives makes not one whit's difference!" Clewiston suddenly caught himself, smoothing the front of his tunic with his paws. "Ahem. Don't mean t' get inta a shoutin' match with you good folk. But soon as we're done here, we'll be heading' right straight back to Salamandastron ourselves to help Lord Urthfist take it back any bally way we can! Now, if you'll kindly tell us how long ago he left an' which way he was headed, we'll be on our way, thank you very much."

"Just a moment. There's still the matter of that hare you were chasing right before you got here."

"Why? Did you take 'im in?"

"Yes. And he seems to think he has a lot to fear from you."

"He's a lyin' spy of Urthblood's," Clewiston spat. "Don't believe anything he says, Abbess. It's a long story, but just trust me on this."

"A story Urthfist and Traveller told us all about," Vanessa nodded knowingly. "His name is Browder, and he went to Salamandastron with stories of a massacre at Redwall to lure Urthfist and most of the Long Patrol here to Mossflower. I was just about to question him on the matter, and I thought you might want to be there when I did."

Clewiston's whiskers twitched as his eyes went wide. "Now that I would. Is this an invitation?"

"You obviously bear Browder great malice, and I can't say I entirely blame you. I wouldn't trust putting all twenty of you in the same room with him - he has invoked the sanctuary of Redwall, after all - so I will allow two of you and no more to be present when we speak with him. It can be any two you wish, but the rest must wait out here. Do you agree to these terms?"

Clewiston stroked his chin. "You still haven't told me how long ago Lord Urthfist left Redwall."

"Five days, this afternoon."

The hare's ears flopped apart in a split, sticking straight out to the sides. "Five days!"

"Yes. And they were moving at a good pace. Urthfist even said something about running all the way to Salamandastron without stopping for food or sleep if they had to. Remember, they thought they'd need to hurry to your rescue."

"Rotter's luck," the Colonel muttered, gazing back toward the Plains. "Hafta run back the way we came, straight over the mountains, an' even then we might not make it in time. Damn!" He glanced back at Vanessa. "Oh, uh, pardon me, Abbess."

"An officer and a gentlebeast indeed, Colonel!" Vanessa smirked. "Well, it's your choice. I would really like to have you there when I speak with Browder. If you'll agree to that, we can use that time to reprovision your hares for the trip back to Salamandastron. You look like you're travelling rather light. It could be to your advantage."

"Well, the foragin' was pretty sparse on our way here," Clewiston admitted. "We could use food and drink."

"And I'm sure your troops could use a short rest," Vanessa added.

"Wot we really need are some proper weapons."

"Those you will not get here. We are sworn not to assist either side in fighting. It is still our hope that this conflict may be settled in a peaceful manner ... although you've already made your position on that matter quite clear."

Clewiston mulled it over for a few more moments. "Okay," he said finally. "But I cannot spare too much time. If you c'n resupply my hares while we interrogate Browder fer a bit, I'd be most grateful, Abbess."

"I'll see to it. Now, pick one more hare to accompany us, and we'll pay Browder a visit. I'm sure he'll be, um, delighted to see you again."


	5. Chapter 67

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Sixty-Seven

Down in Cavern Hole, Browder sniffed with delight at the steaming bowl of leek soup that was placed before him. Grabbing up his spoon, the hare alternated deep slurps of the soup with mouthfuls of wheaten loaf that he tore off with his teeth, demolishing the tasty fare like he was a creature just emerged from a seven season famine.

"Mmm, mighty good, this, mmrph! Say," gulp, "I wonder wot's keepin' th' Abbess? Don't reckon there's been any trouble, do ya?"

Elmwood scowled at Browder's unmannerly display. "Oh, I'm sure she'll be along shortly. Hungry, are we?"

"Hmmph, just a bit peckish. This snack'll hold me over 'til the proper meal's served. Hullo? Wot's this, th' bottom o' th' bally bowl already? Always shows up 'fore I'm ready. Hey, don't s'pose I could get a refill here?"

Elmwood snorted and ungraciously swept up the empty bowl. "I'm sure Friar Hugh has some more simmering back there. Perhaps you'd care to trade in this bowl for a trough?"

"Hey, easy there! Remember yer Abbey hospitality, eh?"

"I'm a soldier, not a serving beast," Elmwood grumbled.

"Yah, well, don't quit yer day job, chap!"

Further irate exchange was cut off by the bustle and voices of a large group coming down the stairs from Great Hall. The blood drained from Browder's ears and face when he saw the two hares walking just behind the Abbess. He started to bolt from his chair, but Elmwood grabbed him firmly by the elbow and forced him back into his seat. "Eating and running, hare? Now who's being rude?"

The two members of the Long Patrol paused on the bottom step, fixing Browder with a deadly glare. "Hello, Browder," Colonel Clewiston smiled icily. "Remember us?"

"Abbess, they'll kill me!" Browder wailed. "You gotta protect me! I demand the sanctuary of Redwall!"

Maura stepped from behind the two hares and ambled around to take the large chair alongside Browder's. "Put a pawsock in it, windbag. They're sworn to cause no bloodshed. And if they have other ideas, they'll have to get through me to reach you ... which means they won't. So sit there and don't make a fuss."

Browder did as he was told, trembling with apprehension as the two Long Patrol hares were seated across the table from him. Of course he recognized Colonel Clewiston, but the other was equally familiar to him: Melanie, who along with her two daughters had first encountered Browder and escorted him to Salamandastron, and later conducted him back to the mountains so he could point out the path he'd travelled. It was hard to say now whether Melanie or Clewiston gave him the more hateful glare.

As the other Abbey leaders seated themselves, Elmwood held up the empty bowl. "Abbess, our guest just requested a refill. Shall I indulge him before we get down to business?"

"Uh, no need," Browder said lamely. "Kinda lost my appetite, don'tcha know."

"Really?" Elmwood taunted. "That's most unharelike of you."

"Well," Vanessa said to the squirrel, "I still want Friar Hugh to get started right away on putting together enough travel provisions for the Colonel's company. They'll be leaving again as soon as we finish here. Please tell him to put his staff right on it. Also, if Balla could please put out some ale or cider for our thirsty guests. I'm sure they must be positively parched after running so far."

Melanie held up a paw for attention. "And, if it's not too much trouble, Abbess, a large bowl of chestnuts, please, if you happen to have them. Big ones ... the bigger, the better. Colonel an' I are quite fond of 'em, an' they're none too plentiful out on the coastlands."

"No problem at all. Elmwood, please see to it."

"Yes, Abbess." He nodded and jogged off to the kitchens.

Vanessa took her place at the head of the table. "As soon as Elmwood returns, we'll get started. He is the leader of the Mossflower Patrol in Alexander's absence, so we ought to include him here."

The squirrel returned very quickly, bearing an oversized wooden bowl brimming with chestnuts which he placed before the two Long Patrols. "You were in luck, friends. Friar had a sack of these leaning against the oven, so they're even warm. Sorry we didn't have time to roast 'em properly for you."

"Oh, these'll be just fine." Melanie plucked one from the top and put it on the linen napkin she'd spread on her lap. "Much obliged."

Elmwood pulled up his chair. "Balla's getting a big pitcher of cider tapped out of one of her kegs. She'll be out with it shortly, Abbess."

"Thank you, Elmwood." Vanessa folded her paws on the table before her. "Now, Browder, we simple Abbeyfolk are just full of questions for you. For starters, are you in the service of Lord Urthblood?"

"Oh, no! I'm no soldierbeast!"

"You're his spy!" Melanie snapped.

"Well, I wouldn't say that neither," Browder squirmed.

Vanessa sent a penetrating gaze Browder's way. "Did you or did you not go to Salamandastron at Urthblood's request, and tell Urthfist and the Long Patrols that there had been a slaughter at Redwall and he was needed here?"

"Well, I never did deny that, ma'am."

"Um ... could you please explain that?"

"I'm an actor, plain 'n' simple," said Browder. "Urthblood enlisted me to, ah, um ... well, that's a poor choice o' words. Let's say he, ah, engaged me to give a, er, special command performance. Yes, that's wot I'd call it. Said there was all these fine hares who'd fallen under th' sway o' his brother, whose mind wasn't in th' best o' sorts these days. Told me they could come to harm unless I could convince 'em to leave that gloomy big rock by th' sea. That way, he could move on in an' set things t' right there without nobeast gettin' hurt. If you look at it that way, it was a mission o' mercy ... savin' lives, an' all that."

The other two hares gaped at Browder. At length Clewiston said, "An' I thought Urthblood was th' bloomin' master of twistin' th' truth all 'round!"

"Why, it's all true!" Browder declared.

"True that you lied," Vanessa accused. "You told these good hares and their Lord that Urthblood had done terrible things here at Redwall - just to lure them away so that Urthblood could capture Salamandastron!"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call 'em lies, my good mouse ... "

"What!" she exploded. "Then what would you call them?"

"Um ... a fiction. Just a story, like any number o' others I've performed down throughout my illustrious career. Except this one was done t' save lives, not just for entertainment. An' from wot I can see, it worked jolly well. Now, unless that big brute Urthfist goes runnin' back there tryin' t' cause trouble, nobeast need come to any harm in all this."

"You can't actshully b'lieve that!" Clewiston said. "That you were workin' in th' cause o' good!"

"Course I believe it," Browder insisted. "Urthblood's th' rightful Lord o' that place, unless you're gonna tell me otherwise. I defy you t' name one beast who's lost its life so far as a bally result o' wot I did ... as opposed to wot would've happened if I hadn't cleared th' way for Urthblood t' return to his home peacefully."

"I can name at least one," Clewiston accepted the challenge. "A right upstandin' young hare by th' name o' Hanchett. Lord Urthfist sent him out t' warn Redwall 'bout Urthblood, but he must've been caught by that tyrant's minions, 'cos he was never heard from again."

"Uh, actually, Colonel," Vanessa broke in, "Hanchett was alive and well when he left here with your master, five days ago."

"Wot!"

"Yes," the Abbess nodded, "he came to us a few days after Lord Urthblood's army arrived. The following day Urthblood announced his intention to go to Salamandastron. He asked that we keep Hanchett here for ten days, so that he would not be able to cause any mischief. We were still holding him when Urthfist and the Long Patrol got here. We decided at that point that there was no reason to deny Hanchett his freedom any longer so we released him. When Urthfist left Redwall to return to Salamandastron, Hanchett was with him."

"Oh," Clewiston muttered, taking in this news. "Oh."

"Nyah!" Browder impudently stuck his tongue out at the Colonel.

Clewiston snatched up a chestnut and made to hurl it at Browder, then thought better of it and popped the nut into his mouth. The older hare's lightning-fast movement of threatened violence left Browder cringing in his chair, paws defensively up in front of his face.

"Behave yourself, Colonel," Vanessa said, without much admonition. "Ah, here's Balla with the cider. We'll rest our tongues a few moments ... or at least use them for swallowing instead of talking."

Everybeast's mug or goblet was filled with the cool, delicious beverage - even Browder did not refuse his share - and then they all enjoyed refreshing draughts of the Abbey's specialty cider. The two hares of the Long Patrol especially seemed to relish the sweet, tangy drink, and drained their vessels rapidly.

"Now, then," Vanessa smacked her lips, licking them clean of the cider, "where were we? I believe Browder has freely admitted to doing the things of which you accuse him, Colonel, but he maintains that the reasons for his deception were honorable. He claims he did it to save lives, and indeed, it seems no life has yet been lost, although it is of course impossible to know what is currently going on at Salamandastron or the lands surrounding it. What do you say to this, Colonel?"

"A lie's a lie, that's wot I jolly well say, ma'am. A beast that's false once can be false again. I think this spy would say anything here now that he believes might save his fleabitten hide."

"I resent th' term 'spy,'" Browder protested weakly. "I'm a player, that's all. Not a soldier, or a bally agent provocateur, or wotever you'd like t' think I am."

"I think you're a fink," Melanie bit off, adding another chestnut to the growing supply in her lap.

Vanessa looked hard at Browder. "Surely you must understand why we would have a serious problem with somebeast speaking falsely of terrible things happening at our Abbey. Quite apart from the fact that your actions involved us in a conflict that doesn't directly concern us by causing Urthfist to come here, you used lies about Redwall for Urthblood's benefit. He used our name to help him gain Salamandastron."

"But I keep tellin' you, marm, they weren't lies! Not really! It was a story Urthblood wrote for me t' perform - I was just playin' a part. We even rehearsed it t'gether, so I'd be sure t' stay in character, remember all th' things I was s'posed to say. I've yet to hear these two," he jerked his head toward Clewiston and Melanie, "refute that there're beasts alive today who wouldn't be if t'weren't fer me!"

"So you're just an innocent performer who used your talent in an honorable cause," Vanessa elaborated, her tone clearly unconvinced. "You say you rehearsed this with Urthblood. When would that have been? He certainly never had the opportunity while he was staying here."

"Well, he first told me 'bout it up in th' Northlands, 'cos he wanted me to come to Mossflower with him, an' I wasn't gonna go unless I knew wot it was for. Now, Urthblood's done a lotta good in the north, so when he asks fer yer help, you'd better have a good reason fer sayin' no. Once he explained th' situation at Salamandastron, an' wot he wanted me t' do, I agreed. I travelled with his army most o' the way - shadowing it more like, since I never was too easy 'round so many grim fightin' beasts - an' we worked it all out along th' journey so that I'd be ready by th' time we got to Mossflower. I waited in a little copse south o' here fer a few days 'til one o' his big birds told me to get goin'. So I got, usin' th' bally shortcut over the mountains he told me 'bout. Makin' that run in three days was as great a feat as my actin' triumph at their rock fort."

"Triumph!" Clewiston smacked his paws hard against the tabletop and half rose from his chair. "This is war, hare! If you really believe wot you're spoutin', you're more'n just a liar - you're a bloody fool!"

"Colonel, please!" Vanessa looked Clewiston back into his seat, then turned to her fellow Abbey leaders. "You know what this means, don't you? Urthblood fully intended to capture Salamandastron before he ever set foot inside Redwall!"

"Not exactly forthcoming with us, was he?" Arlyn mused grimly.

Brother Geoff added, "I wonder if he had any real reason for coming to Redwall at all, other than using our home as a staging area for his campaign against his brother?"

"And as bait," put in Montybank.

"Yes," Vanessa nodded. "I'm beginning to wonder whether we can believe anything Urthblood told us while he was here. I'd even be questioning the existence of his prophecy right about now, if Urthfist hadn't confirmed it for us."

"Now you're startin' t' talk sense, Abbess!" Clewiston enthused. "Pretty plain now who th' bally enemy o' peace is, wot?"

"Just a moment, Colonel," Vanessa cut him off. "However much I might disagree with Urthblood's tactics or question his motives, I cannot condemn him as an evil beast or an enemy of Redwall. I do not know all that he has done in the Northlands, but I can attest to the fact that many fine creatures have sworn him loyalty and now serve at his bidding."

"Thank you, Abbess!" Browder said haughtily.

Vanessa snapped her head around at the thespian hare. "You're not one of them! Browder, have you no shame at what you've done? Saying that I and all of my friends were murdered! That's nothing to be proud of, even if you honestly did think it would save lives in the long run - something that remains to be seen, since this is far from over. Yes, your deceit allowed Urthblood to enter Salamandastron without bloodshed, but now Urthfist is on his way back there to fight this war anyway. It looks to me as if he simply used us - and perhaps you, too - in order to gain himself an advantage in a battle he'd planned to fight all along."

Browder buried his chin in his paws, shaking his head. "But ... it wasn't supposed to happen this way. Once Urthblood took possession of Salamandastron, Urthfist was s'posed t' see it would be jolly well futile to try 'n' take it back. He wasn't s'posed to counterattack!"

"Mighty happy t' disappoint ya in that," Clewiston said.

Browder straightened. "It ... it could still turn out all right. I mean, Lord Urthblood doesn't hafta fight, after all. He's got that place fer 'imself now, an' all he's gotta do is sit tight inside it. Urthfist an' th' Long Patrols won't be able t' get in if he doesn't want 'em to. Once they see that, mebbe they'll be willin' to talk. That's all Urthblood wants t' do, really - just talk, an' reason things out."

"Yah," Clewiston scoffed, "he tried t' feed us that same pablum. Only wants t' talk, my left footpaw!"

Vanessa looked at Clewiston. "Are you so sure he wasn't being sincere, Colonel? If there's any chance at all to put an end to this without violence, we will be most willing to help in any way that we can."

"Oh, I'm sure that bloody beast would talk up a bloomin' gale ... as long as he gets t' keep Salamandastron. An' that's wot we can't allow, Abbess."

"So, you'll be on your way back there as soon as we dismiss this gathering, I take it? And you'll be going there with the intention of fighting?"

"Aye," Clewiston nodded, "that we will."

"I suspected as much." Vanessa sighed. "Very well. We'll supply you with whatever foodstuffs you need for the journey. I'm sure you'll want to depart as soon as you may. There is one last thing I would ask of you before you leave - something I would urge you to keep in mind."

"Yes, Abbess?"

"There are Redwallers with Urthblood's forces at Salamandastron, as you well know. Their main interest is peace. Please avail yourselves of any opportunity which may arise to enlist their services. They will be most eager to assist in setting up negotiations, if Urthblood and Urthfist should decide to talk rather that fight. I implore you not to become so caught up in battle lust that you are blinded to such a chance."

"Can't make any guarantees, ma'am. Tell me, would any o' yer Redwall friends perchance fight against us on Urthblood's side?"

"Winokur is sworn not to. Alexander might, if Urthfist attacks Salamandastron. And of course Winokur's father Warnokur has been in Urthblood's service for a full season. I can't imagine him not fighting, if it comes to a battle."

Clewiston frowned. "Anybeast unwise enuff t' put himself in th' middle of this, we can't take any special pains to keep 'im from comin' to harm. Battle's battle, Abbess, an' not much in the way o' pawshakin' an' introductions goin' on in the thick of it. If a creature raises its weapons against us, that's an enemy from where we stand, an' we'll hafta treat it as such."

"I understand." Vanessa turned her gaze to Browder. "And as for you, I'm afraid you're not welcome in our home. We'll let you stay here until Colonel Clewiston and his company are well underway, but then you will have to leave. For all you may deny that you did nothing dishonest or underpawed, it still sounds to us like you lied about us to Urthfist simply so that Urthblood might gain by your deception. If this is your art, then I'm afraid we haven't the taste for it. You'll have to find yourself another audience elsewhere, my dear actor."

Browder slumped in his chair and tried to turn invisible. His ears and nose burned red in chagin. "Yessum."

Clewiston and Melanie stood, not waiting for the Abbess to dismiss them. "If you'll please excuse us, ma'am, we'd rather not share a room with that deceitful coward any longer'n we hafta. We'll be outside with somebeasts who know wot it means t' be a proper hare. No need t' see us out, we know th' way. If you could please send out those provisions quick as y' can, we'd really appreciate it. Wanna be off before th' day wears on too much more, don'tcha know."

"Of course, Colonel."

The two hares started for the stairs. Melanie tossed her napkin full of heavy chestnuts onto the table with a loud clatter as she left. The Abbey leaders gaped at it. While they'd all been talking, she'd fashioned it into a loaded sling!

"A little parting gift for you, Browder," she said icily. "Just a reminder of wot you can expect from us if we should ever meet again. We Long Patrols can make a weapon out of just about anything. Next time, I'll use it on you!"

Browder fainted and fell right out of his chair.

Melanie snorted derisively and followed Clewiston up the stairs out of Cavern Hole.

00000000000

Clewiston and Melanie rejoined the other eighteen hares of their company out in the road before the main Abbey gate. Ears waggled and whiskers twitched as the Colonel recounted all that was said at the meeting with Browder and the Redwallers; his audience hung on every word.

"Well," Lieutenant Gallatin said with satisfaction once his superior had finished, "at least somethin' good's come outta our trip here. Now these good folk know fer themselves wot a liar Browder is, an' how treacherous Urthblood can be. Surely now they must realize he's the bloomin' enemy!"

Clewiston shook his head forlornly. "Not quite. That fur-forsaken brute's got 'em so confused 'n' topsy-turvy from his lies, they don't know which way's up ... or wot's true an' wot's false. Way they see it, the best they can do is stay neutral an' not join either side, just like that squirrel fella told me up on th' mountain pass. They'll give us food 'n' drink for our journey, 'cos that's their way. But we can't count on Redwall as an ally 'gainst Urthblood."

"At least they'll be kickin' that no-good Browder out on his bobtail," Gallatin said. "Hey, I don't s'pose some o' us could stay behind t' take proper care o' that fink once he's outside the Abbey, wot? Shouldn't take more'n two or three o' us to slay that coward. Why, I bet even Mizagelle could do it all by herself!"

"P'raps she jolly well could," said Clewiston. "But we gotta get to Salamandastron, an' right quick, too! Lord Urthfist an' the others have a five day lead over us. Even tho' they're takin' the long way 'round the mountains, they could still beat us there - 'specially if they're pushin' hard, like the Abbess thought they might. I ask you all, is there a hare among you who'd rather loiter here waitin' fer Browder t' poke his head outside these walls, when our Lord an' all our brothers 'n' sisters of the Patrols are fightin' for our bally home?"

Every hare looked at its fellows, but none spoke up. Clearly, such a thought was not even to be considered.

"Aw, it wouldn't work anyway," Melanie said loudly. "The walltop lookouts here would see if any o' us tried t' stay behind an' hide. They won't let Browder out until they're sure we're well away from the Abbey. They know wot we'd do to him, an' they don't want his blood on their paws."

"Wouldn't mind havin' it on mine, tho'," old Broyall grumbled.

Gallatin said to Melanie, "Pity you never got t' use that sling o' yers on him."

"Oh, I was hopin' to, right up to th' last, Lieutenant. I know we promised no bloodshed to the Abbess when she let us in, but I wager I could've broken a few bones without makin' that rotter bleed. Wot I really wanted was t' smash one of his knees real good so it'd never heal right. Woulda done it, if I could've gotten a clear shot. Like t' see him run to Salamandastron to warn Urthblood with one leg shattered!"

"Doubt he'd do that anyway," Clewiston said, "since we'll be takin' the most direct route there ourselves, an' he'll wanna stay as far from us as harely possible. Besides, the fightin' should be starting around th' time he'd be able to get there. 'Bout the only thing he's said that I do believe is that he's no fightin' beast. He wouldn't be any more use to Urthblood from now on."

"No room fer a lyin' coward in th' middle o' battle," Gallatin agreed.

"Yeah," said Peppertail. "An' wot was with that weasel I saw in there, Colonel? One o' Browder's buddies?"

"Not as far as I could tell," Clewiston shook his head. "Never did get a chance t' ask about it, but the Abbess swears all o' Urthblood's troops are gone. An' that verminous bloke was wearin' woodlander garb, an' minglin' in with all th' rest o' the Redwallers. Must've been somebeast they took in sometime in seasons past, mebbe as an infant, who they got to adapt to their ways. Bless 'em, I say - I know I could never live with a creature like that."

Several of the others echoed this sentiment with a chorus of agreement. But Peppertail gazed up at the Abbey wall in uncertainty. "Makes a beast think, tho'," the Sergeant muttered in a thick voice. "Mebbe ... aw, fur, I dunno ... "

"Wot is it, Sergeant?" Clewiston prompted.

"Well, sir, it just seems like ... like things ain't th' way they should be."

"All too right you are, Pepper ol' chum. An' they won't be unless we can get Salamandastron back - "

"That's not wot I mean, sir. Findin' out Hanchett's still alive has kinda got me feelin' ... well, it's tough to find th' words. Urthblood coulda killed Hanchett, but he didn't. We all just assumed that young whip was dead, but now we know he's not. Same with us - Lord Urthfist's runnin' back to Salamandastron 'cos he thinks Urthblood's sure to kill us. Truth is, not a beast has died since this whole thing began, even tho' we've all been runnin' about thinkin' otherwise. Kinda makes me sad inside, a little, knowin' that if all this stopped right this instant, all my dearest friends in th' world would still be alive 'n' well ... but that won't be true in a day or two, or three, way things're goin' now. Kinda like meetin' an old friend you thought was gone forever, knowin' you're certain t' lose 'em again right away." Peppertail glanced around at his companions. "Does anybeast else feel this way, or is it just me?"

Clewiston narrowed his eyes. "Surely you're not suggesting, Sergeant, that we ought to deal with Urthblood? Just 'cos he didn't slay us outright?"

"No, no, nothin' like that, Colonel. But, y' gotta admit, Urthblood's not exactly followin' the expected game plan, wot?"

"Urthblood's got th' power of prophecy," said Clewiston. "We've all seen that. Just 'cos he's not luring us to our doom th' way we'd anticipated, doesn't mean he's not guiding events to destroy us all th' same. Nobeast can envision the way events will unfold like he can. If he's refrained from takin' any o' our lives so far, you can be sure it's only 'cos it suits his bloody purpose in th' long run."

Melanie laughed uneasily. "You make it sound like he's all-knowin', Colonel! Let's hope it's not that bad. Hate t' be fightin' a beast who's bally omniscient!"

The sound of the gate opening wide made them all turn their heads. The Abbess, Maura, Montybank and a few of his otters filed out into the road. The otters bore twenty packs of food and drink, which they began passing out to the hares of the company without delay.

Clewiston waited to take his last, making sure every member of his platoon was properly supplied. Slinging the pack over his shoulder, he turned to Vanessa. "Greatly obliged, Abbess. This'll save us time, not havin' t' stop fer foragin' an' searchin' out drinkin' water. Times's the one thing we can't spare, so you'll pardon us if we're off at once."

Vanessa nodded. "Which way will you take?"

"Straight back over th' mountain pass, th' way we came. No other choice, really. We'll cross the Plains in one straight gallop, even though that'll take well inta th' night. Catch a few hours' sleep at the base o' th' mountains, then start over them at first light so we don't get stuck up on th' high passes overnight. Should get us to Salamandastron sometime day after tomorrow. Just hope that's not too late."

"Whatever you find when you get there, Colonel, please keep my advice in mind. The opportunities for peace must not be ignored or overlooked. Seek out Winokur if you are at all able, and work with him. He is Redwall's representative, and will speak on our behalf. You may trust him absolutely."

"I'll remember, Abbess. An' if I may give you some advice in return?"

"By all means, Colonel."

Clewiston lowered his voice. "I fully expect war, ma'am. May be battle underway already. An' though th' Long Patrol's never been beat before, there's a first time for everything. We'll give 'em our full measure o' blood 'n' vinegar if there's fightin', but if anybeast could defeat us, Urthblood's th' one. Wot I'm tryin' t' say, Abbess, is that the war may not stop at Salamandastron, or the coastlands. This may be th' last time I'll be talkin' to you. If things don't go our way, Urthblood'll come knockin' at your gate some season or other. When he does, don't trust him. Don't believe him. An' don't put in with him, wotever may come. That'd only lead to your ruin. More'n that, the goodbeasts of the lands will need some sanctuary an' refuge t' count upon if Salamandastron falls to evil. Redwall's gotta be that place. This Abbey's gotta stand fer wot it's always stood for. Don't let it fall too, Abbess. Don't give in."

Vanessa held her head high. "Have no fear of that, Colonel. We are not easily swayed, and we will fight to preserve our way of life, just as we always have. If anybeast, Urthblood included, thinks it can impose its will upon us, it will be in for a rather rude awakening. That I can promise you."

Clewiston grinned. "A promise from th' Abbess o' Redwall's good enuff fer me. But keep yer guard up, ma'am. Lies are weapons too. If Urthblood sees he's fooled you once, you can bet my bally bobtail that he'll try it again."

He bowed and stepped toward the far side of the road. "An' now, without further ado, we must be goin'. Thanks again, Abbess, an' take care!"

"An' say goodbye to Browder for us!" Melanie added.

"Right, hares!" Clewiston flung his paw in a windmill motion toward the Western Plains. "Let's get a move on!"

Each hare took a running start of several paces, cleared the roadside ditch with a single effortless bound, and hit the ground on the other side without missing a step. Some of the Abbeydwellers waved farewell, but the Long Patrols never looked back, and were quickly lost in the distance.

00000000000

The rapidly departing company of hares was visible from the walltop long after they were lost to sight from the road. When the farewell party came back inside the Abbey, Vanessa and Maura went right up to the west battlements. They were joined presently by Elmwood, who'd left Browder under the watch of the otters. Together, the three of them looked after the receding Long Patrols until they'd dwindled beyond even the squirrel's ability to see them.

"I'd say that qualifies as safely away," Vanessa commented, and turned to Elmwood. "You're sure none of them broke away and tried to double back here?"

"Not that I could see, Abbess. They were all sticking together as far as I could tell, and all headed directly away from us as fast as they could run."

"And at that distance," Maura surmised, "it would take them quite some time to get back here. I think we can let Browder out now in good conscience. Shall we, Vanessa?"

"After you, Maura." She waved the badger toward the wall stairs. "Elmwood, please keep a sharp eye out in case those hares have any surprises in store for us. I truly believe the Colonel really does want to get back to Salamandastron as quickly as he can, but you never know. Their enmity toward Browder was pretty strong. It's possible one or two of them might try to make it back here to finish him off."

"Well, do you want the Forest Patrol to give Browder a treetop escort when he leaves, like we gave Machus and his troops?" Elmwood inquired.

"No ... that hare's not worth our trouble," Vanessa replied. "He's probably better off using his natural speed to make his getaway without any help from us. Your vigilance up here should be adequate for his safety."

"Yes, ma'am."

Browder was fetched up from Cavern Hole by Maura and brought to the main gate where Vanessa, Arlyn, Geoff and Montybank awaited. The Abbess regarded the revived player hare coolly. "Feeling recovered from your little fainting spell?"

"Um ... well, actshully I do believe a day or two's bally bedrest is indicated. Wouldn't wanna take chances with my health, most important thing a beast's got, don'tcha know."

"You're lucky to have any health to be concerned about at all, after your narrow escape from the Long Patrol," Vanessa said curtly. "We've given you our protection and our hospitality. Now that those who would harm you are halfway across the Western Plains, you must leave our Abbey."

"So soon?" Browder's voice was heavy with disappointment. "I was kinda hopin' I might be able t' rest up a bit b'fore y' gave me the jolly heave-ho. Been rather a tiring day for me, as you c'n imagine."

"Mossflower has plenty of trees you can rest under. You're welcome to choose any of them ... as long as they're not inside our walls."

"Oh. Oh." Browder twitched his nose in thought, then reached into one of his travel pouches and produced a set of wood pipes. "I can sing fer my supper. Well, not sing, exactly, my voice never could carry a bally tune. But many's the time I've kept my travelmates entertained an' diverted with a few blows on these. At least let me repay your kindness with a spot o' music, whaddya say?"

"You may serenade us from outside if you're so inclined," Vanessa bit off. "But you are leaving our home now, and that is not open to discussion."

Maura grabbed Browder by his collar. "You heard the Abbess. Out you go now!"

"Wait, wait! Are y' sure it's safe?"

"Unless some of the Long Patrols turned invisible, they're all long gone," Maura said caustically.

"Yah. Wouldn't put it past 'em. Makin' weapons outta thin air, an' all that."

"Out of chestnuts, actually," Vanessa reminded him.

"Wotever. Speakin' o' foodstuffs, Abbess ma'am, don't I get any provisions fer th' road, like you gave them ruffians who tried t' deprive me of life 'n' limb?"

"Mossflower has plenty to forage. You'll be just fine." Vanessa followed behind Maura as the badger bustled Browder out into the road. "And while you're out fending for yourself, I would ask you to think hard about what you did at Salamandastron, and ask yourself whether it was really the right thing. Perhaps someday you'll return here, and then you might have a different view of your actions."

"I ... I was only tryin' t' save lives, Abbess."

"Perhaps you were. But you chose a rather ignoble way to do it. The ends do not justify the means, Browder. And in this case, we are by no means certain of the ends. A great many creatures may still die. Your deception merely tipped the balance in Urthblood's favor while it delayed the conflict for a few days. Now Urthfist and his hares must fight at a disadvantage, but it seems they are still intent to fight nevertheless. And so, there will be war."

Browder stood out in the middle of the road, a look of sad confusion on his face. "But, it wasn't supposed to happen this way!"

"So you've said. Goodbye, Browder."

And Redwall's main gate slammed closed on him.

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Smallert, Cyril and Cyrus were back up on the ramparts. Vanessa, Arlyn, Maura and a few of the other Abbey leaders stood alongside them, watching Browder dwindle into the distance along the north stretch of the road. The Long Patrols had shown no sign of returning, and in any case couldn't have known which direction Browder would take after leaving Redwall, so it seemed the player hare was in no danger. At least for the moment.

"I don't understand something, Abbess."

"Yes, Smallert?"

"Why'd you force Browder to leave, when you let me stay? What I done was lots worse than what he did."

"Was it? Your misdeed didn't start a war, or put Redwall in the middle of a feud between two mighty forces. Browder placed our home in danger, and that is inexcusable. The fact that he did it with deception only makes it worse."

"Yes, but ... " The weasel hung his head in confusion. "Browder's a goodbeast ... not like me. He's noble."

"Hah!" Maura barked. "Smallert, I never thought I'd say this to a creature of your kind, but you've got more nobility in your one remaining ear than Browder's got in his whole body."

"I'm just slow, I guess, 'cuz I still don't understand."

"It's simple," Vanessa said to Smallert. "You knew right away that you'd done something terrible. Even though it was an accident, and you were not the only beast at fault, you took responsibility for your actions and were prepared to pay for your mistake with your life. And you were sorry for what you'd done. Because these are the traits of a decent creature, I decided to grant you the protection of our Abbey to save your life. We Redwallers prize honesty and responsibility above almost all other things."

She waved a paw in the direction Browder had taken. "That hare doesn't even have a clue as to what he did wrong, so of course he can't apologize for it. And until he's honest with himself, he won't be welcome in this Abbey. Browder may not be an evil or mean-spirited beast, but sometimes evil deeds can come about as much from ignorance as from outright wickedness."

"Yeah, but, Browder was only followin' Lord Urthblood's instructions."

"Yes, I know," Abbess Vanessa nodded gravely. "That's what really bothers me."


	6. Chapter 68

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Sixty-Eight

The mid-afternoon sun shone down on coastlands that stood poised upon the brink of battle.

Urthblood's forces were in position. Their closely-packed ranks covered the lower slopes of Salamandastron's south face in an approximate wedge formation that narrowed as it neared the tunnel opening halfway up the mountainside. Captain Lorsch's rat platoon formed the wide front line of the wedge, armed with swords and shields from the Badger Lords' treasure trove. Behind them stood Bandon's stoat brigade and Perrett's ferret regiment, likewise outfitted with splendid spears and polearms from that same noble hoard. The larger stoats and ferrets, with their longer weapons, made a line that could literally fight over the rats' shoulders. For any group of Long Patrol charging into this vanguard, it would be like running into a double line of fighters and having to engage both at once.

Above these two forward lines, the terrain became craggier and more uneven, and the defenders there were clustered more into groups wherever the footing and ground cover would favor them over an upward-charging adversary. It was here that Mattoon's weasels stood intermingled with the second rat platoon under the command of Captain Cermak. There had not been enough of the badger-made arms to fully outfit this second defensive tier, so those were given to the soldiers on the two outside flanks of the wedge, where the Long Patrol might try to make a run around the front lines and attack from the side to battle their way into the mountain. The rest stayed to the middle of the deployment, where they would be protected on three sides by their better-armed comrades ... unless those lines were breached. In that case, they would be waiting to greet their assailants with the less fancy but no less lethal weapons which had seen them through their Northlands battles alive.

Next came Abellon's mouse division, flanked on either side by Captain Tillamook's hedgehogs, some of whom had added rat swords to their usual battery of clubs so that they could meet any hares who got this far with a double-pawed defense of blade and bludgeon. Last came Saybrook's otters and Bremo's shrews, deployed in a wide half-circle around the tunnel entrance in a formation that echoed the front ranks: short shrews backed up by tall otters who could reach out over the shrews' heads to engage the enemy. This arc would be the last line of defense against Urthfist and his hares gaining entry to Salamandastron.

Only two squads were excluded from this deployment. Foremole and his Tunnel and Trencher Corps were restricted to the kitchens, where they would be in charge of supplying meals to their fighting comrades, should the battle end up lasting many hours, or even days. Due to their specialized skills, Urthblood did not wish to expose his moles to open warfare unless it was absolutely necessary.

The other squad held in reserve was that of Machus and his foxes. Those swordsbeasts stood at the ready inside the south tunnel, willing and able to join in the fighting at a word from their badger master.

Machus stood by his Lord's side at the tunnel mouth, watching their challenger approach along the wide, sandy coastal plain. At Urthblood's other paw stood Winokur, Alexander and Lady Mina; this time, Warnokur was not to be excused from the action, and stood with the rest of the otters in Saybrook's squad a short way downslope from the entrance.

Urthfist and the Long Patrol were slowing now, close enough so that even Winokur could discern the individual hares in the column. The sharp-eyed hares could undoubtedly now take in the full measure of the forces arrayed against them. Urthblood's all-out display of his military might must have looked especially impressive from below, daunting enough to give Urthfist pause and make the Long Patrol lag in its pace. Hope jumped in Winokur's breast. Perhaps Urthblood had been exactly right in this strategy. Perhaps this show of force was the precise thing that would convince Urthfist war was futile and bring him to the table for negotiations, heading off bloodshed.

"They're coming within range, My Lord," Machus said.

"Yes, but they're slowing," Alex said from Urthblood's other side, picking up on what Winokur had already observed himself. "Maybe they'll decide not to attack after all."

"Perhaps." Urthblood's gaze never left his brother, still small at this distance but dwarfing the hares around him. "We will have to wait and see."

Machus shared his master's skeptical view. "Could be they're just taking a rest before beginning their final drive. Now that they can see how we're dug in, they wouldn't risk a frontal assault without formulating an attack plan first. They might send out grouped units to probe for weaknesses in our lines, or devise some more intricate strategy."

"Or they may very well decide to talk," Winokur countered.

Mina quickly stepped in with a comment of her own. "It seems to me that Urthfist would want to scout all around the mountain to see if there's another, less well-protected way inside, so that he wouldn't have to fight his way through the thick of us. He knows he left the north side tunnel and the roof stairs open. I'd think he'd want to check those out before doing anything else."

"That would be true," Urthblood said, "if he is thinking rationally. We must be prepared for the possibility that he is not. An insane badger in the grip of the Bloodwrath is no less dangerous than one who still has its reason."

"Nevertheless, Lord," Mina continued, glancing down at the crowded slope, "are you sure it wouldn't have been wiser to place some of these forces at the other two entrances?"

"I am satisfied with these preparations," Urthblood responded.

Four of Saybrook's otters had been assigned to cover the north tunnel. They had masks and the remaining Flitchaye oil jars with them. If a force of hares tried to get in that way, the passage would be flooded with gas and the quartet of otters would retreat to the inner end of the tunnel, to guard against the unlikely prospect of any Long Patrols making it through the vapors without succumbing to them. As for the roof, Urthblood seemed content to let Halpryn and Klystra have it all to themselves.

"If an attack comes," Urthblood went on, "it will be from this direction. And if I am wrong, there will be sufficient time to reposition these forces to more fully cover all three entrances."

Alexander glanced over at Machus, then asked Urthblood, "Why haven't you deployed your swordfoxes with the rest of the army outside? If they're as formidable fighters as I've been led to believe, I'd have thought you'd want them forward to engage the hares right away."

"They are indeed formidable," Urthblood confirmed. "They have been trained to hold back nothing in the heat of battle. If I commit them, many of the Long Patrols will be slain. I will keep them here unless the tide of battle goes against us. Only if my brother and his hares show their intent to slay large numbers of my troops will I permit Machus to lead his foxes into the fray. And it is not just of the hares' safety that I am thinking. My foxes know more of the healing arts than any other beasts in my service. If matters go as I fear they may, their healing skills will be sorely in demand for the casualties both sides may suffer."

"On the subject of casualties, My Lord," Machus pointed down at the badger's forces, "don't you think this formation leaves the lines vulnerable to a barrage of arrow volleys?"

"Only a relatively small number of the Long Patrols use longbows as their weapon of choice," Urthblood replied. "One in four, if that many."

"That's still a dozen to a score who could inflict losses upon us at a distance," the swordfox worried. "And there are many more who are highly skilled in sling techniques. Working all together, they could launch quite a damaging fusillade at us. The front lines are especially exposed."

"The front line has shields," said Urthblood. "Made by the paws of Badger Lords. They are well protected from any projectiles."

"Those rats should be safe enough, My Lord. It's the beasts behind and above them which are at risk. I don't imagine the Long Patrols would waste their ammunition and energy firing at an enemy who's obviously impervious to them. Rather, they would aim over the front ranks that are shielded and try to hit those who aren't. And if enough of the backup support is wiped out by repeated volleys, it will leave Lorsch, Bandon and Perrett's squads isolated and open to a direct assault. It could be a problem."

"I do not foresee such a situation developing." Urthblood stared hard at the approaching force. "If I am mistaken, we will hardly stand still and allow ourselves to be picked off in number. Just because we are defending the mountain, that does not mean we must stay rooted to one spot."

"What would you do?" asked Mina. "Charge down to engage them?"

Urthblood nodded. "Or send the otters forward to answer with sling volleys of their own, or split the formation so that the Long Patrol would have to break into smaller groups to press their attack. Or, if all else fails, withdraw into the mountain and defend it at the entrance tunnels, where the hares' slings and arrows would not be nearly so effective. There are other possibilities as well. We must be alert for them, and ready to take advantage of them at a moment's notice. We won't know how things will go until we see what my brother is going to do."

"They could also use such tactics as a ploy to draw us out," Machus said. "Make us come down off the mountain to engage them on the plains, which would leave our forces spread too thin and this tunnel insufficiently defended."

"As I have said, we must be alert to everything," Urthblood rumbled.

"Including peace," Winokur reminded the others. "You're all so busy talking war, let's not forget that Urthfist might simply take one look at this display and decide battle's out of the question."

"That is my fervent hope," said Urthblood. "But we must be ready for battle before all else. If no fighting comes, there will be plenty of time for peace. And then it will fall to you, Winokur, to help my brother and me make the peace a lasting one. Until then, my main concern must be defending this fortress from a beast who might have descended into madness and is no longer fit to rule here."

Alexander placed a paw on Winokur's shoulder. "We'll know soon enough which way it'll go. Looks to me like they're coming to a full stop. Let's see what Urthfist does now."

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The almost nonstop march from Redwall had begun to take its toll in earnest upon the hares under Urthfist's command. There had been no halt for rest since their crossing of the coastal broadstream during the night. Every member of the Long Patrol had been able to fill its canteen as they waded across, but the last of their food ran out shortly after dawn, and Urthfist would allow no stops for foraging - not that there was anything much worth foraging out on the barren middle coast, where patches of bare sand alternated with with tufts of inedible beach reed and sharp-edged sawgrass. Any meaningful nourishment lay well off to the east, where the upper slope of the coastal plain gave way to the foothills of the range and the richer soil there supported actual fruits and vegetables. But now that Salamandastron was within sight, Urthfist had eyes only for his target destination. Onward he pressed, tireless and unyielding in his stride, leaving his hares no choice but to keep up with him. For Urthfist, fatigue and weariness were dim nuisances, jostling for attention at the edge of his awareness but too trivial to command his concern. He had much more important matters on his mind.

Morning passed into afternoon, and the flat-topped cone of Salamandastron loomed larger and larger ahead of them. Details and textures of the mountainside came into focus as the distance to the natural fortress grew less. And then at last the sharp-eyed hares could clearly begin to make out that the lower slopes closest to them were crowded with soldierbeasts, rank upon rank of them, stretching from just above the baseline of the mountain all the way up to the south tunnel mouth. It was still too far to tell exactly what kind of beasts they were, but there had to have been hundreds to so completely carpet the slopes with such a shoulder-to-shoulder formation of defenders. The sunlight glinting off their myriad of brandished weapons left no doubt that these were warriors who meant to hold their own against the approaching challengers.

Urthfist saw them a fewscore paces later. His gait slowed as his cold red gaze fastened upon the enemy horde, but he did not stop. The hares of the following column adjusted their strides to match his.

"We are too late," Urthfist spoke without emotion.

"Mebbe, an' mebbe not, M'Lord," Major Safford offered optimistically. "That crew looks like your brother's entire fur-forsaken horde. Could be he never got inside at all. Not beyond hope that th' Colonel's given 'em more grief'n they knew wot to do with, an' has managed to keep that mangy gang outta our home. We don't know when Urthblood got here. Could be we're in time."

"A slim hope, Major." Urthfist's tone was frighteningly dead.

"A slim hope's better'n none at all, wot?"

Traveller spoke from Urthfist's other side as they inched closer to Salamandastron. "I say let's just put ourselves to gettin' that crowd o' rotters off our bally mountain! We'll find out about the Colonel's platoon in good time."

"Hear, hear!" said Safford. "Um, is that gonna be our strategy, M'Lord?"

Urthfist's stare remained riveted upon the enemy before him. A disturbing glint of curiosity had come alight in his eyes. "We must get closer," he muttered.

"Aye, sir," Safford acknowledged. "Scope 'em out, gauge their strength an' all that. But, um, I wouldn't venture too much closer'n we are now, M'Lord. They may have archers an' slingbeasts waitin' fer us t' get within range. Don't wanna lose any hares that way, 'fore we've even got th' battle started right 'n' proper for our side. Gotta figure out an attack strategy before we engage, don'tcha know."

But the Badger Lord didn't seem to be listening. Something about the front lines held him almost mesmerized, and he stumbled onward as if under a spell. "There is something ... familiar ... I think I recognize ... "

"Wot is it, sir?" Traveller asked. "Do you see your brother up there?"

"I can't ... quite ... remember ... "

Safford and Traveller traded quizzical glances behind Urthfist's back. The Major laid an insistant paw upon his master's elbow. "This's far 'nuff, M'Lord. Any closer's too dangerous. We gotta stop here an' plan wot t' do next."

Urthfist kept on walking, ignoring Safford's pleas. His jaw hung loose as he continued to scrutinize the ranks of rats and ferrets and stoats before him.

Safford sidled over to Traveller. "Hey, wot d'you s'pose is th' matter with him?"

"I dunno. But we gotta stop him!"

"Stop a badger who doesn't wanna be stopped? Good luck, ol' chum!"

"Well, we gotta do something!" Traveller whispered urgently.

"That we do. Go back along the column an' bring forward every hare with a longbow we got. We'll form a front rank o' archers followin' right behind 'is Lordship, in case those blighters start anything. We'll back that up with a line o' slingers. That'll let us cover Lord Urthfist without gettin' into skirmish range."

Traveller turned to carry out these instructions, then caught himself as he realized Urthfist had ground to a sudden halt. "Now wot?" he murmured, waiting to see what his Lord would do next.

They were now close enough to the front line of rats that they could almost see the expressions on the rodent faces. They were certainly within range of any archers who might be positioned just behind the front ranks, although no shot had yet come. It could be that Urthblood was going for an all-out, full-contact engagement rather than an exchange of fire over a distance. The leading edge of rats seemed armed with only swords and shields, and the second line of ferrets and stoats with only polearms. If there were any archers or slingers set up farther back in the ranks, neither Safford nor Traveller could spot them.

It was upon those shields and swords and spears that Urthfist's unblinking gaze rested. If it was so easy for the hares to identify the manner in which their enemy was armed, that was only because those weapons stood out so prominently from the lowly beasts who wielded them. Every exposed blade cast off perfect reflections of the sun like long and deadly mirrors; every halberd and axehead and speartip gleamed and sparkled; and every shield blazed in ornate color and design, their enameled brilliance dazzling and alive in the sun's rays. It was almost enough to make the hares forget that these were vermin they now faced.

"Where in th' bally name o' sea 'n' sand did this scurvy lot get such a fine bunch o' weapons?" Safford whispered to Traveller.

"Dunno, chum. Look almost like they was made by ... " Traveller glanced at Urthfist.

The badger's eyes were flooding with red rage. A low growl was rumbling deep in his chest, making its way up his throat and out through clenched teeth. As it emerged it formed into words, but words which were nearly lost in the feral quaking of his animal anger.

"That soulless beast! He has raided the treasure of the Badger Lords, and defiled the memory of our ancestors! He gives those noble works into the paws of the vilest of creatures, to keep me out of my home! Aarrrrgh ... "

And at that point Urthfist's tirade became an incoherent bellow of the purest rage. Drawing his mighty broadsword, he roared the traditional battle cry of the Badger Lords since time immemorial.

"EULALIAAAAA!"

Whirling his sword like a windmill of death, Urthfist charged straight into the front lines.

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Machus stiffened. "My Lord, they're attacking!"

"My brother is attacking," Urthblood corrected in his smooth rumble, showing no sign of excitement. "He seems to have surprised his hares more than anybeast. Truly, not the actions of a creature fully in command of its reason. Let us watch for a few moments and see what comes of this."

And so, from the high vantage of the tunnel mouth, they watched.

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Urthfist's enraged charge was a thing for which nobeast - not even the seasoned veterans of Urthblood's Northland troops - was prepared. The rats of the front line found their swords and shields ripped from their grasp by the impossible force of the badger's lightning-fast swings. The ferrets and stoats who thrust forward with their weapons over the rats' shoulders only succeeded in having their speartips and other polearms snapped off by the badger broadsword, leaving them with no defense but a shorn-off stick against the armored behemoth who meant to slay them.

The rats bereft of both sword and shield died quickly in those first moments of the engagement. Urthfist's blade almost took on a life of its own as it sought out exposed throats and bellies. Any paws thrown up for protection were hewn off instantly, followed by a return swing that put the maimed beasts out of their misery before the full horror of their situation could even register. Others, who'd lost only their swords, held their their artistic shields out before them, trying to buy a few extra moments of life. If the shields were held high, Urthfist cut the rats' unprotected legs out from under them; if low, he smashed straight down, splitting the skulls of those who cringed behind. With the support line of ferrets and stoats pressed at their backs, the rats were left no avenue of retreat. It was either fight or die. They strove, in spite of their terror, to fight as Urthblood had taught them, but never had they faced an enemy like this, whose blows could lift them right off the ground and scatter them like straw practice dummies, so most of them merely died.

In all of this, Urthfist suffered no more than minor scratches and barbs. His armor protected him well, but it was his berserk rage, coupled with his skill and strength, which truly kept him from serious harm. He was in the full grip of the Bloodwrath, that mindless killing frenzy that sometimes overcomes badgers in the heat of battle. Had he attacked with anything less than this total savagery, the enemy lines may have been able to close round on him and bring him down by their sheer numbers. But the insane fury of his onslaught held them at bay in those crucial first moments; anybeast that came within the arc of his sword's swing was slain.

Even so, Urthfist could not have kept it up for very long, not against an entire army. Sooner or later, the enemy would start getting in under and between his swings, close enough to exploit gaps in his armor and cause the badger more dire injuries.

But Urthfist was not alone. There were eighty-one hares of the Long Patrol with him, fourscore of the stoutest-hearted fighting beasts who'd ever lived. And they were hardly about to stand by while their Lord fought this battle single-pawed. Scarcely had Urthfist made contact with the enemy lines when they sprang into action themselves.

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For the space of several heartbeats, the hares could only stare after Urthfist in mute shock as he ran roaring toward the enemy formation. Then Safford and Traveller looked at each other. A light of fierce determination smoldered in the Major's eyes.

"Right! Looks like His Lordship's gone an' picked our timing for us. Listen up, everybeast!" Safford turned to face the column. "No time to form inta proper skirmish lines - we're gonna hafta do this by brute hare force. Captain Polifly! Captain Taywood!"

"Aye!" the two officers answered as one.

"Take your two platoons into the front lines just to Lord Urthfist's right. Captain Longmeadow, your platoon's with mine on the left. We'll drive up past His Lordship on either side, draw off some o' his heat, an' try t' open up the way before him as best we can. This battle won't mean much if he's slain. Form flanks to keep th' main enemy force away from him ... but stay outta his way! The Bloodwrath's upon him, an' he's as liable t' slay any o' us who get too close as he would those vermin! Right, off we go on my count. One, two, three ... charge!"

"Eulaliaaaa!"

"Salamandastron!"

"Urthfist!"

Shouting and screaming their battle cries, the twin prongs of the Long Patrol lept forward to join the fray.

00000000000

"Now," Urthblood solemnly pronounced from his lofty vantage, "it is a battle."

Machus held a tight grip upon his sword hilt, as did the nineteen other foxes behind him. Already over a score of rats and several ferrets and stoats lay slain around the insanely whirling, hacking, stabbing and hewing figure of Urthfist, and the two groups of hares had just smashed into the front lines on either side of the badger. The swordfox chieftain gazed imploringly at Urthblood. "Permission to join the battle, Lord?"

"Not just yet, Machus," Urthblood held up a paw of restraint. "The lower ranks are well deployed to absorb a frontal assault of this nature. See - my brother charged ahead on his own. Now the Long Patrol are scrambling to execute a flanking maneuver so he will not be cut off and overwhelmed. It is a move of desperation, not a proper battle strategy."

"Still," Lady Mina observed, "the seaward flank has already broken through our front line and drawn ahead of Urthfist. Doesn't look like those fancy weapons of yours did those poor rats much good, Lord."

"They served their purpose." Urthblood turned to the Redwall squirrel. "Alexander, you are not a part of my forces. You are welcome to assist me, although I realize that, as a Redwaller, you may wish not to. The choice is yours."

Alex and Mina traded a long, wordless glance. Her eyes invited him to say yes. But when Alex switched his gaze to Winokur, the peacemaker otter furrowed his brow and gave his head a discouraging half-shake. Alex looked down at his footpaws, lost in thought and totally torn. At last he raised his head and said to Urthblood, "What may I do for you, Lord?"

Urthblood gave a half-nod of acceptance. "Please go up to the roof with Lady Mina. I want the two of you to help Klystra and Halpryn guard the plateau ... although," he glanced down at the unfolding battle on the slopes below them, "it would seem unlikely that any hares will try to climb up that way. Keep your eyes on all approaches, but do not engage them or fire at them unless they try to breach the crater rim."

"We understand, Lord. Come on, Alex." Mina waved for her fellow squirrel to follow as she turned to go, but she paused a moment as her gaze met that of the fox chief. She and Machus had been through a lot together, both in the Northlands and during their time in Mossflower country, right up to their arrival here at Salamandastron. "Good luck, Machus. See you on the other side of this battle, okay?"

"You always do. Don't get carried away up there and fall over the edge, huh?"

"Alex will grab me if I do," Mina laughed, and then the two squirrels were gone, brushing past the waiting line of foxes as they hurried into the mountain.

Winokur gazed after them with some disappointment, then gave a shrug. "Well, My Lord, it looks like this is the hour for warriors, not peacemakers. It pains me to see so many creatures spilling each other's blood, but I guess I'd better stay here, just in case there's any break in the fighting ... "

"The only break I see is in our front lines," Machus snorted. "And there's a lot more of our blood getting spilled than theirs. If I've seen two hares go down yet, then I've seen a hundred. My Lord, I really think you should send us in now."

Urthblood pointed downslope; both flanks of the Long Patrol had now penetrated well into the wedge formation of Northlanders. "They were only trying to come to my brother's aid. Now that they are through, their position becomes more perilous. The breaches in the forward ranks were only wide enough to let them pass. The outer edges of the rat, stoat and ferret lines will be able to close in behind them, while Captain Mattoon's weasels and Captain Cermak's rats will engage them from upslope and from the sides. They charged right into the center of our forces - a very unwise thing to do. Now they will face an enemy on all sides."

"With all due respect, sir, that won't do us any good if they kill us all."

Urthblood glanced sharply at the fox, then returned his gaze to the battle. "Do not worry, Machus. If it is battle you crave, I feel you will see your share before this day is through. But for now, let us observe how Mattoon and Cermak's squads fare against our attackers."

Grinding his teeth to keep himself silent, Machus watched on.


	7. Chapter 69

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Sixty-Nine

In the course of their forward drive, the Long Patrols actually inflicted very light casualties upon Urthblood's forces.

The hares' single-minded purpose had been to flank their besieged Lord, and that meant plowing through the massed enemy as quickly as they could. Thus, while they'd certainly slain a few vermin in the process of gaining their intended position, many more were simply wounded, or merely bowled aside with kicks and body checks - whatever had been the fastest and easiest way for the hares to clear their avenue of advance. A full engagement might have let them dispatch many more of the enemy, but it also would have slowed them up and left Urthfist swamped in the midst of this horde.

Now both the seaward and landward hare flanks had drawn abreast of the swirling melee of death that marked where the berserk badger was embarked upon his unthinking slaughter. Rats, stoats and ferrets who faced inward toward the threat of Urthfist's thrashing blade now had to turn their backs on that danger in order to meet the hares who'd come up alongside them. Major Safford's spur-of-the-moment strategy worked perfectly, as large numbers of enemy vermin who would otherwise have been free to press in upon Urthfist were suddenly drawn off to engage the the twin prongs of the Long Patrols.

But the hares did not have things all their way. Their two flanks had driven up into the heart of the enemy army - which left them pinned between the center forces they were drawing away from Urthfist and the outer edges of the giant wedge formation, which now closed in to join the battle. These included not only the remnants of the front lines they'd smashed through, but also Mattoon's formidable weasel battalion and the second tier of rats under Cermak's command. Mattoon's and Cermak's squads were clumped into groups rather than strung out in a solid line, making them both less vulnerable and more mobile. Some of those groups were in motion even as the hares bullied their way through the forward lines. By the time the two living spears of the Long Patrol had successfully established their flanking position around Urthfist, these rat and weasel reinforcements had spilled down to bolster the outer lines now pressing in upon the hares. Still others formed knots directly in the hares' path, promising to make further upward progress very costly indeed.

Quite simply, the hares had fought their way into a situation from which the only escape would require them to fight for their very lives - on all sides.

This predicament would have been dire enough in the best of times. But the hares, fatigued from their relentless march from Redwall, had been strained by just this initial encounter with the enemy. Even with their practiced war skills honed to an almost reflexive level by seasons of drilling and the fires of battle adrenaline coursing through their veins, they would be hard pressed to sustain themselves in any prolonged fighting.

At the head of the seaward flank, where the Long Patrol had driven up to the left of Urthfist, Major Safford put down a rat with a javelin thrust through its eye, then stepped back to enjoy a momentary lull around him. Traveller was at his shoulder, facing the enemy at his back. The Major granted himself a quick look down the line of hares; the column looked fairly complete. "Did we lose anybeast yet?" he called out.

"Strenger went down when we broke the front lines," Traveller called back over his shoulder as he parried with a pair of ferrets.

"Beridon's gone too, bless her soul," another hare responded from farther down the flank. "Think that's all so far, sir!"

Safford nodded to himself. Two dead out of forty-one. Better than could be expected against these odds. He would grieve for his fallen comrades later, if he survived. For now, he must do whatever he could to keep anymore of his hares from joining those already slain. He hoped Polifly and Taywood's platoons on the inland side of the slope were enjoying similarly low casualties. Against this horde, they would need every hare.

From halfway down the line Captain Longmeadow shouted, "Look out below! They're closin' ranks behind us!"

Traveller leapt straight up and took one of the ferrets in the face with a double kick that sent it sprawling back on its tail. In the same motion he pierced the other one through the throat with his spear; the second ferret fell dead even as Traveller made his sprightly landing. Thus freed of his immediate menace, he joined Safford in gazing back the way they'd come. The scattered front lines had reformed and now turned its weapons up toward them, cutting off their best route of escape. They were now surrounded by Urthblood's forces on all sides.

"Cripes," Traveller moaned. "Between Lord Urthfist an' us, I'd thought we'd pretty much demolished those blighters. Didn't suppose they'd be able to reorganize at all, much less this quick. Guess we shoulda killed more of 'em on our way up!"

"I wasn't plannin' on goin' back that way anyway," Safford said. "We hadta get to Lord Urthfist. We did th' right thing ... an' now this's where we make our stand!"

Traveller clashed momentarily with a rat soldier before taking it through the side with his speartip; it cried out and fell to the ground clutching at the bloody wound." "Wot, we're not gonna try 'n' make it into th' mountain?"

"Nay. We gotta hold this position t' give Lord Urthfist a fightin' chance. An' in case you hadn't noticed, chum, th' way ahead's bottled up tight with a right ugly crew. We'd hafta chop through 'em at an uphill disadvantage. They can come down here if they want a bally piece o' us!" Safford tangled briefly with a rat before knocking it out cold with his steel javelin haft. "Fer now, we'll thin out their lower ranks as much as we can. Once His Lordship's outta danger, we'll figger out which way t' go."

"Enough chit-chat fer now, major," Traveller turned away, spear raised. "Lord Urthfist's sendin' another batch our way!"

"Another wave o' Urthblood's comin' in from th' outside too," Safford said. "All right, every seaward-facin' hare! Let's show these nastybeasts who they're dealin' with!"

This latest press was mostly comprised of Mattoon's weasels and rats from Cermak's squad, although a few of Lorsch's surviving rats and Perrett's ferrets filled out the lower end, still brandishing the splendid, polished badger-made arms. They came at the hares in a sweeping broadside, and the two lines clashed mightily. Urthblood's forces had superior numbers, but the Long Patrol met their onslaught with the professional dedication of their training, coupled with the desperation of fighting for their Lord, their home, and their lives.

The engagement was a furious one. But although the line of hares was driven back a full step to absorb the charge, they held their own magnificently, and were soon pushing their attackers back toward the outer edge of the battle with a vengeance.

Halfway down the flank, a burly hare from Longmeadow's platoon cried out as a rat sword twisted through him. Enraged, the hare captain shouldered forward and savagely skewered the offending rat with his rapier, then slew the ferret alongside the rat for good measure.

Safford was too occupied himself to give the incident more than passing notice. Three dead now, he thought to himself, and this was only just beginning. Over his shoulder he called, "Hey, inward-facing chaps! Could use a paw here whenever you might be able t' spare it!"

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Captain Perrett was caught between Urthfist on one side and Major Safford's flanking line on the other. His squad had suffered devastating losses in these opening minutes of the battle; fully half the ferrets in Urthblood's army now lay slain and dismembered upon the lower slopes about him.

At least he was still alive, which was more than could be said for the captain of the front line rats. Perrett had seen Lorsch go down under Urthfist's unforgiving blade in the first moments of this nightmare. It was a rare thing for one of Urthblood's captains to be slain in battle ... but then, this was shaping up to be anything but an ordinary, Northlands-style battle.

The mad badger seemed to have veered off into Bandon's stoat squad for awhile, where he continued his unimaginable mayhem. Perrett knew there would be no fighting Urthfist; that insane creature slew everybeast who got near him, and would only be stopped if and when Urthblood came down to challenge his brother directly. Only another badger stood any chance at all against Urthfist.

Perrett could see that most of his surviving ferrets had joined the reformed line that now cut across the seaward hare flank's escape route. That was where he belonged. There was nothing he could do against Urthfist, but the hares he could fight. And now that Lorsch was dead, he was in charge of the surviving rats as well. Assessing the situation in a flash, he realized he must withdraw the rats and ferrets from inside the Long Patrol flank, where they were pressed between Urthfist and his hares, and reposition them to the rear and outside of the flank, where they would be less vulnerable and could support Urthblood's outer lines there. Let this mad badger and his hares have the middle of the slope to themselves; Urthblood's forces would push in on them from either side and crush them in the king of all pincher maneuvers, or else force them to retreat. Either was acceptable to Perrett's battle-fevered mind.

The ferret captain charged up the mountainside along the narrow corridor of calm between the embattled hare flank and the region where Urthfist spread his terrible wrath. Tapping his ferrets and rats on the shoulders as he went back down their line, he barked orders for them to disengage from this side of the Long Patrol flank and follow him around to the outside, where they would support Mattoon and Cermak's troops.

He didn't hear his approaching doom until it was too late. Perrett had gotten so involved with getting his comrades out of harm's way that he failed to see Urthfist spinning and whirling across the mountain slope until the badger was almost upon him. Perrett and the rats and ferrets around him raised their badger-made arms and jumped to get out of the way, but their efforts were in vain.

The wide swing of Urthfist's broadsword took Perrett's right leg off cleanly, halfway above the knee. The badger's return swing was aimed to behead the ferret commander, but by this time Perrett was already tumbling backward down the rocky incline, and Urthfist's blade went through a rat's neck instead.

When he came to a stop, Perrett sat up, dazed. He'd come to rest against the headless corpse of one of Urthfist's earlier victims, a rat. Several other slain beasts lay close by. He glanced up; the rampaging badger was now a safe distance above him, intent upon other prey. Then Perrett looked at the stump where his leg had been, and his throat went dry while an icy claw seemed to grip his heart. He knew he was looking at his own death. Normally Machus or Urthblood might be able to save a beast thus injured, but there would be no rescue in the midst of this battle, not even for a captain. He would bleed to death long before any such help could reach him. This wound was a mortal one.

The fear gave way to rage as Perrett looked at the dead all around him. These were his troops, his comrades in arms, and they were being slain at a terrifying rate. The idea made him tremble with the urge to strike back somehow.

The lower end of the hare flank was mere paces from where he lay. All the ferrets and rats on this side were gone now, having either fled past Perrett as he lay dazed or been slain by Urthfist or his hares. Every hare was now turned to face the outer lines of rats and weasels. None had the attention to spare for the maimed ferret who lay helpless and hopeless behind them. And Urthfist, realizing he had depleted his targets over here, lunged back toward Bandon's stoats and the other half of Lorsch's sundered rat platoon.

Perrett was a deadbeast; even his enemies took him as such. Ignoring his impending death, Perrett grabbed up a badger-made sword in each paw from two of the fallen rats and began crawling over the slain toward the line of hares who had their backs to him.

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"Well, that's a bloomin' relief!" Traveller exclaimed upon seeing the space before him cleared of enemies. Turning and stepping up alongside Major Safford, he crossed spears with a weasel who'd been troubling his friend. "We're all yours now, Saff ol' chum. Lord Urthfist's taken care o' all th' rotters on this side!"

Working together, they quickly slew the weasel. Two others stepped into its place. The Long Patrols had slain so many rats, weasels and ferrets on this outer side of the flank that their corpses formed a long pile along the line of skirmish where they fell, and many of the remaining vermin had to stand on the bodies to keep the hares engaged. Now that all the Patrols were faced the same way, the Northlanders began to falter and fall back. Only one other hare so far had lost its life along this left flank, bringing the total dead to four and leaving thirty-seven to battle Urthblood's outer lines. This was more than enough to hold back the battling vermin.

"Glad t' have you, Traveller," Safford panted with exertion. "Coulda handled 'em ourselves, y'know, but we decided t' save some for you. Glad 'is Lordship didn't start carvin' us up after he finished with those scrappers behind us. In the grip o' th' Bloodwrath, can't always expect his sort t' tell friend from foe, wot?"

"It's th' bally weapons," Traveller said between spear thrusts.

"Eh? Wotcha mean?"

"Some o' this lot's been given weapons wot look like they're badger-made," Traveller explained. "Those're th' ones Lord Urthfist's goin' after. Any vermin holdin' blade or shield like that is a deadbeast if he gets near it."

The Major grinned. "Talk about poetic justice! Glad we don't have any o' that fancy stuff. This plain ol' toadsticker's doin' me just fine!" He duelled with a rat for several swings, steel javelin clanging against the rodent's sword, then found an opening and jabbed the rat in the leg. It went down on one knee, grimacing in pain, but continued to fight until Safford dealt it a crippling stab in the shoulder. The rat dropped its blade and fell backward, paw over the wound. It rolled beyond range before Safford could properly finish it off. "Call that half a point," he said.

"Quarter-point, if he comes back later in this bally game," Traveller revised. "Wonder if our friends across th' way in th' right flank are scorin' as high as we are?"

Down at the opposite end of the skirmish line, the hares there were quite oblivious to Perrett crawling up behind them. Their total focus was upon the battling vermin in front of them. The maimed and dying ferret captain raised himself to stand on his one remaining leg, the noise of his movements lost in the clash of weapons and the shouts of war. Raising both swords, Perrett plunged them into the backs of the two hares before him.

It took a moment for the other Long Patrols to realize what had happened. The ferret withdrew his weapons from the slain hares as they slumped forward. Perrett wanted to strike out more with the last of his dying strength, to slay more of these servants of the mad beast who had taken everything from him. He lashed out, but with only one leg he was rooted to his spot. He succeeded in doing no more than gashing a third hare across its shoulder before several of the Long Patrols turned on him and ended his life once and for all with multiple spear thrusts.

But the damage was done. Not only had Perrett killed two hares and wounded a third, but the diversion he'd created when the others turned on him enabled the outer line to move in and take advantage of this distraction. Another hare took a spear through its belly before the ranks of the Long Patrol could close together again to fend off Urthblood's troops and seal the breach. Thus was Captain Perrett's legacy written in the blood of three dead hares, as well as his own.

Safford glanced down the line; he could see well enough the results of what had happened, even if he didn't know the particulars.

"Actshully, Traveller chum, I hope Taywood and Polifly's flank is scorin' a bally lot better'n we are!"

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In truth, the landward flank was faring both better and worse than Safford's seaward line.

Better, because they'd somehow managed to penetrate Urthblood's front lines and gain their flanking position without losing even a single hare.

Worse, because the double-sided onslaught soon broke their line. Even while Major Safford's flank held fast in spite of their losses, Taywood and Polifly's opposite formation was buffeted by an attack that was no less ferocious. But here on the southeast slopes the terrain was rougher than that of the southwest incline, and the line of hares found itself strung along irregular outcrops, dips and ridges which made it all but impossible to keep their file intact. And so it was that, shortly on the heels of achieving their goal, the relentless press of the vermin soldiers shattered the Long Patrol's single, unified flank into isolated groups of anywhere from three to seven hares each.

Which was not an altogether bad thing where the hares were concerned. The Long Patrol were actually better suited to fighting in small bands than formed into long ranks and lines, and these fragmented units of the broken flank now acquitted themselves with a ferocity that took Urthblood's vermin quite by surprise. If the Northlanders had expected their divided adversary to be overwhelmed and succumb quickly, they were in for a rude awakening. What the hares sacrificed in unity, they made up for in mobility - and no ground creature could move as fast as a hare. As long as they could keep their vermin enemies engaged and occupied along this part of the slope, it made no real difference to the hares whether they did so in a single line or in smaller, scattered battle groups. Either way, they would occupy the attention of rats and stoats who otherwise would have been free to harrass Lord Urthfist.

Miraculously, only one of their number was lost following the breakup of their flank. Because they were no longer tied down to one spot, the Patrols on this side of Urthfist were now able to range up and down along the face of the enemy, exploit any weakness they found, and do a little rank-breaking of their own. Several of the leading groups drove up and around Captain Mattoon's blocking wedge of weasels, leaving that force no choice but to break formation and engage the hares on their own terms. Another six hares punched through the rat-stoat line as it tried to close behind them; thus liberated from the thick of battle, those half-dozen then turned right back around and lit into the vermin line even as more of the Patrols descended upon them from above. Battered from both above and below at the same time, this last organized vestige of Bandon's stoat squad and Lorsch's rat platoon was quickly smashed. This attempt to cut off the hares' escape route had failed utterly.

Escape was, however, the last thing on any of the Long Patrols' minds. They'd been more intent upon removing a threat at their backs as they fought their way up the mountainside. Wading through the piles of dead and dying rats and stoats, the victorious hares made their way upslope once more to aid their comrades and their Lord.

As it turned out, Urthfist performed them a greater service than the other way around. The raging Badger Lord spent his wrath with especial vehemence on this side of the southern slopes, slaughtering his vermin foe wholesale. Soon, there were none left alive for many paces in any direction, leaving a gaping hole at the very center of Urthblood's army. Between this eradication of the enemy at the heart of their defensive formation and the elimination of the would-be cutoff line, the hares were left with plenty of room to maneuver and draw out their adversary.

And a Long Patrol hare with space to maneuver was a deadly opponent indeed.

The terrain, too, became their ally at this point. These hares knew this mountain very well, far better than Urthblood's soldiers did, and used this knowledge to their advantage. The same ridges and outcrops and defiles that caused their flank to splinter in the first place were now strategic tools. The Long Patrols knew how to weave and duck among these irregularities in the mountainside in such a way as to confound their Northland adversaries. Urthblood's forces had dug into the spots which seemed to provide the best defensive advantage, but they were poorly suited to the kind of constantly shifting and moving campaign the hares now unleashed upon them. In very short order, all semblance of ordered ranks and lines of skirmish was lost as the various groups of the Long Patrols battled this way and that, up and down and across the mountain's face, hitting and running and then hitting again, drawing the enemy out into knots and clumps and then turning about to attack them at any vulnerable spot they could find. This strategy left Urthblood's defensive lines in shambles. And while they were not slaying quite so many of the enemy vermin as Major Safford's still-intact seaward flank was, they had also succeeded in keeping their own casualties to a minimum. Only one hare dead from the two platoons together, in roving skirmishes that had claimed dozens of the enemy ... and that wasn't counting the ones Urthfist was slaying on his own. That was a figure any captain of the Patrols could live with.

That situation was about to change, however, and change most drastically.

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"Captain Perrett just went down," Machus observed in mounting frustration.

He and Urthblood were monitoring the progress of the battle very closely. From this high vantage, the scenario was spread out below them like some sort of bizarre, abstract painting in motion. On the seaward side of the south slope, Major Safford's beleaguered flank held its own despite its losses, exacting a heavy toll from the Northland troops who sought to crush it, and keeping that arm of Urthblood's army away from Urthfist. To the landward side, where the Long Patrol flank had broken, pandemonium reigned as the smaller groups of hares lashed out in all directions, devising their strategy from moment to moment and laying waste to any and all attempts to contain them.

And in the middle of it all was Urthfist the Mad, unheeding of the minor wounds he'd suffered so far, deaf and blind to everything but the need to annihilate every vermin soldier who dared to carry the cherished badger-made weapon crafts. The central slope had become a wasteland of death, littered with hacked corpses and severed limbs and heads of rats, stoats and ferrets. Nothing was seen to move there now except for the frenzied badger warrior, whirling this way and that in search of fresh victims and occasionally stumbling over bodies and the blood-slicked rockface. At length he spied several more such rats and ferrets who'd attached themselves to the blocking line that harried the lower end of Safford's besieged flank. Howling like a banshee, Urthfist charged down across the mountainside to engage them.

"Eulaliaaaaa!"

Machus turned to Urthblood. "We're being slaughtered, Lord!"

"I am afraid you are right, Machus. I had hoped they might tire enough to allow for a brief respite in the fighting, which might lead to a temporary truce. But my brother seems to have lost all reason. See - he is not even trying to take advantage of the opening he has created. He could be well up into Abellon and Tillamook's lines by now, but he ignores that to continue his violence against the lower ranks. He is intent upon slaying all of my so-called vermin. His hatred of those species has truly driven him over the edge of sanity into madness, as I had suspected might be the case. I can hold back no longer; too many of my beasts are dying."

Winokur had gone into the tunnel and sat there now, back against the wall and head in his paws, unable to stand the sight of such carnage any longer. He cringed lower in despair at Urthblood's pronouncement, knowing that many more creatures would die before this was all over.

Machus absorbed what his master had said. "I was wondering why the hares weren't trying harder to fight their way upslope."

"They are mostly concerned with supporting my brother," Urthblood said. "As long as he busies himself upon the lower slopes, they will stay there too." His pitted, heavy blade made a rasping scrape against its scabbard as he drew his broadsword. The sound was answered by a chorus of a score more as Machus and his brigade unsheathed their weapons as well.

"Divide your foxes," Urthblood commanded. "Send ten down the seaward flank to engage the line of hares there. You and the rest will accompany me to the landward side. We are needed more there."

"With all due respect, Lord," Machus snapped off, surprised, "shouldn't we be concentrating on breaking that seaward flank?"

"Use your eyes, old friend. The broken landward flank of the Long Patrols is fighting more effectively and suffering fewer casualties. We should count ourselves lucky that the other line hasn't figured that out yet. They have already lost about half a dozen hares trying to keep their line intact. No, we must go down to the landward side of the battle; that is where we will do the most good. Go now; I will follow right behind."

"Aye aye!" Machus barked a series of curt commands. The first ten foxes filed out of the tunnel mouth and down past the ring of otters and shrews guarding the entrance. Machus watched them for a few moments as they streamed toward Safford's flank, swords flashing in the sun. Then Machus led the other nine down into the melee of the chaotic landward battle.

Urthblood paused, gazing down at the Redwall otter. "Winokur."

Winokur looked up at the Badger Lord.

"If the battle does not go my way, you could be in great danger. In their present frenzy of battle lust, my brother and his hares may not give you the opportunity to declare yourself a Redwaller. If you should see me fall, or it looks as if this entrance will be overrun, get yourself down to the kitchens and wait there with my moles. That will be your best chance for survival."

Winokur nodded. "What about Alexander?"

"If my brother's forces make it up to the plateau in any number, then Alexander will have to fend for himself. I would not favor his chances in such a case."

And then Urthblood was gone, bounding down the mountainside on the heels of Machus and his foxes.

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Holding their positions, the lines of mice and hedgehogs sighed with relief as the twin files of foxes ran past them on either side to join the battle raging across the middle slopes below them. Thus far, Mattoon's weasels and Cermak's rats were keeping the Long Patrols too busy to get through to this level, and Urthfist seemed unconcerned with them in his deranged spate of vermin-killing. But the losses among the lower ranks were ghastly, and no mouse or 'hog there was looking forward to the moment when the fighting would finally reach them.

Abellon opened a space in his mouse rank so the seaward fox group could come inside and strike at Safford's flank from its unprotected backside. "About bloody time!" the mouse captain shouted as they passed. "Go get 'em, mateys!"

Along the southeast slopes, the fox force headed by Machus was likewise met with cheers from the hedgehogs as they descended into the fray.

"Hooray!" Captain Tillamook shook his club at the sky. "Guess Lord Urthblood's finally serious 'bout cuttin' some fur!"

Moments later Urthblood himself thundered past, sword held at the ready. Mice and hedgehogs shouted their Lord's name in support, but otherwise held their ground. Urthblood would look most unfavorably upon anybeast of his who broke formation without orders.

"I tell ya," Tillamook called out to his fellow clubbeasts, "I'd rather have that badger in front o' me than behind me in any scrape, an' that's the truth!"


	8. Chapter 70

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Seventy

A knot of five hares led by Captain Polifly was battling a dozen weasels just below the mouse-hedgehog line when the foxes swept down upon them with Machus at their head.

Polifly gave them scarcely a passing glance as they approached. Foxes were renowned for their cowardice, preferring to slink away rather than face an opponent in an open and honest fight. Of all the beasts in his army that Urthblood could have unleashed upon the Long Patrols, foxes were the ones they feared least of all.

The hare captain stepped back from the tussle with the weasels. "Hold th' bally fort, chaps. I'll take care o' this lily-livered brushtail!"

Machus came in with a twirling piece of swordplay that forced Polifly to hold his steel spear ready for defense rather than merely run the fox through. Bobbing deftly upon his feet, Polifly warded off a paw-stinging sword swing and dipped his javelin in the same movement to club the fox's legs out from under him. To his surprise, Machus followed the shaft down with his blade and locked his sword against it, preventing Polifly from delivering the crippling blow. Following through, Machus turned his defensive move into an offensive one, sliding his blade up along the javelin shaft in a thrust that sliced Polifly's paws wide open across the knuckles.

"Yeow!"

Before Polifly could recover from this totally unexpected bit of expert swordsbeastship and the lancing pain it had caused him, Machus brought his blade back the way it had come in a lightning-fast return swing. Polifly stood in shock for a moment, his throat sliced clean through his windpipe, incapable of accepting the fact that he had just been slain. Machus had already moved on to the next hare by the time Polifly's eyes glazed over and he toppled backward, never to rise again.

The Long Patrol were about to learn how badly they had misjudged Urthblood's swordfoxes.

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A short way below where Captain Polifly had fallen, his platoon's second-in-command Lieutenant Satterfield was locked in mortal combat with Captain Mattoon.

The weasel commander had already lost a quarter of his forces on this side of the mountain to the Long Patrol's roving attrition, and he was furious. Quickly seeing that it was hopeless to maintain his defensive lines once the hare flank fragmented and the Long Patrols switched to their far more effective hit-and-run tactics in smaller groups, Mattoon had abandoned his upslope position and waded into the thick of the battle. He sought to find one of the hares' high officers, whom he could engage in a one-on-one duel. He wanted blood in answer for his slain weasels.

Unfortunately for him, the Long Patrol's infuriating habit of wearing no insignia left him at a loss. And now that the main flank was broken into nearly a dozen roving groups, it was impossible to tell which hares were the officers. The command structure within the Long Patrol meant that a lowly Patrol Leader was as likely to be issuing orders as was a Captain or Lieutenant. In truth, Mattoon had run right by Polifly's group, not even realizing that Polifly was one of the two top hare officers on the southeast slope. The weasel captain had fastened upon Satterfield only because Mattoon happened to overhear the Lieutenant barking orders and encouragement at the hares with him.

Three other hares tusseled with five other weasels here, but nobeast intruded into the duel between Satterfield and Mattoon. Back and forth they went in the midst of this little battle within the battle, weasel's spear and hare's javelin clanging and crashing in fury as each beast sought to best the other. Neither was the least bit intimidated by their foe, and hatred blazed in their eyes as their gazes were locked. This was single combat to the death, even though it had not been declared, and would be decided by the two duellists alone.

Urthblood came upon this scene like a red thunderbolt of death. The closest hare barely had time to see this new threat when the badger's blade sliced him neatly in half at the waist.

Satterfield instantly disengaged from his weasel opponent and spun to face Urthblood, as did the two other remaining hares of his group. Mattoon and his troops needed no prompting; in the same instant they stepped back to give their master room to fight. They'd seen Urthblood in action in the Northlands, and knew to stand well clear of him in situations like this.

Before the hares could fully bring themselves around to meet Urthblood's charge, a second was impaled upon his mighty broadsword, lifted off the ground and flung aside like a wet bundle.

Satterfield shouted and leapt, aimed a double-footed kick at Urthblood's head and lashed out for all he was worth. The blow connected solidly, a blow that would have stunned or killed any ordinary creature.

Urthblood barely winced, reached out and caught Satterfield's legs as the hare hare came down, and pulled at them, sending the Lieutenant into an awkward tumble. Satterfield landed roughly on his head, dazed for the moment.

The last surviving hare of the group had her javelin torn from her paws by a swing of Urthblood's sword. Suddenly alone and unarmed, she tried a double head kick of her own. She never even made contact; Urthblood dodged, quick as any hare, and smashed her to the ground with his bare paw. Neck broken, she fell into heap and lay still.

Recovering his wits, Satterfield looked up to see Urthblood standing over him.

"You can end this now," the badger said. "Give me your surrender, and I will slay no more of you."

"Never!" Satterfield shouted back.

"Then withdraw. As long as my brother slaughters my beasts, I will have no choice but to respond in kind. Retreat, if you want the killing to end."

"Looks like you're runnin' outta troops faster'n we are," the hare taunted. "Lord Urthfist's gonna put 'em all in their graves, an' you too. We ain't stoppin' 'til you 'n' yer vile vermin are dead an' gone from our home, you murderous, lyin' traitor!"

"Then I am sorry," Urthblood growled, and passed his blade through Satterfield's heart.

The weasels closed around the circle of carnage, shocked anew by this reminder of what their Lord was capable of. Urthfist wasn't the only badger on this mountain who could slaughter his enemy in numbers.

Urthblood looked to Mattoon. "Carry on, Captain," he grumbled, and then bounded away in search of more hares.

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"Watch yer backs!" Traveller yelled out as he glanced upslope. "Foxes, comin' in behind us!"

"Foxes! Bah! I hate those craven beasts!" Major Safford declared. "Just like 'em, sneakin' in where our backs are turned. Right ho, we've thinned out these rat an' weasel blighters enuff for now - we can hold off th' rest with half our strength. Every hare who was inward-facin' before, turn that way again t' keep our new guests entertained. Pass it down ... an' give those cowardly brushtails my regards, won'tcha? Sorry t' miss their party, but got a previous engagement over here, don'tcha know."

"We'll tell 'em you said hi, Saff," Traveller laughed, as he and fifteen other hares of their flank did an about face in line to protect their comrades' backs against the approaching swordsbeasts.

The fox brigade swept in against the upper half of the Long Patrol flank, staying clear of the lower end where Urthfist was still running amok among the vermin troops. The engagement started predictably enough from the hares' point of view, with a fox who came in too fast ending up skewered on a spear. After that, the battle took a most unexpected turn. Two hares went down to fox swords before a second fox could be brought down to even the score.

Then a third hare fell slain.

Traveller forced his own fox opponent backward off its feet; it recovered and rolled out of spear range before he could slay it. "We got problems back here," he called over his shoulder to Safford. "These blightin' foxes are fer real. We just lost three hares to 'em!"

"Wot?" The Major started to turn to see for himself, then had to turn forward again to fend off a weasel who sought to take advantage of the distraction.

"Oops ... make that four," Traveller said from behind him. "Lieutenant Tomball just went down."

"Not ol' Tommy!" Safford wailed. Tomball was his own second-in-command; the two of them were almost like brothers. Enraged, Safford feinted a poorly-placed javelin block that allowed the weasel to get in a slash at his thigh; having lured his opponent in with that bait, he drove his shaft under the weasel's jaw and up into its brain. Ignoring the pain of his flesh wound, the Major turned to see Traveller locked in a deadly duel with one of the swordfoxes. Abandoning his own flank for the moment, he lunged forward and pierced the fox's shoulder with the point of his javelin. Two against one was more than the fox could manage; as he brought his blade up to deflect Safford's shaft from a second thrust, Traveller buried his speartip right above the fox's belt line. It gasped and fell back, taken out of this battle.

"How're they doin' it?" the Major demanded. "Their bally swords're only half as long as our spears 'n' lances!"

"Never seen beasts who could wield a blade like this lot," Traveller said as another fox closed on him. "Leave it to Urthblood to hit us with a surprise like this!"

From the corner of his eye Safford saw a rat trying to creep up on his turned backside. He gave it a flying kick in the face that bowled it back into two others. Returning his attention to Traveller's side of the flank, he found his old friend too busy to talk. Fighting for his life, in fact. Glancing down the line, he could see the urgency of the situation clearly enough. A fifth hare was slain even as he watched. He could only see three dead foxes. If this kept up, they could all but wipe themselves out against these foxes ... and that would still leave a line of vermin at their backs.

"We can't take these losses!" Safford cried out. "We're not even halfway to th' bally entrance yet! Break formation! We're gettin' outta here!"

"Sounds good t' me," Traveller gasped as he struggled to hold his own against his fox opponent. "Where're we gonna go? Back downslope to Lord Urthfist?"

Safford lashed down with his javelin, trying to spear Traveller's immediate foe in the leg. He missed, but succeeded in tripping up the fox; it took Traveller's spear in its paw before it rolled out of harm's way.

"You wanna lead these sword demons down His Lord's way? I sure don't. They might just have wot it takes t' bring a badger warrior down. No, we'll pull the ends of the flank in toward th' center, make a wedge of our own pointed at th' sea, an' fight our way through this outer vermin line. We'll smash through 'em, then go up an' around 'em to the upper slopes. Fewer enemy there ... with luck, we can fight our way right into th' mountain!"

"Right. But wot about Lord Urthfist?"

Safford glanced downslope. Their badger master had waded into the rank of vermin harassing the lower end of the Long Patrol line; rats, ferrets and weasels were going down left and right before him, unable to rally themselves effectively in the face of his brutal onslaught.

"I'm countin' on most of this gang followin' us once they see wot we're up to," said Safford. "I think Lord Urthfist will be able to take care of any who stay behind."

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The strategy worked better than the hares had any reason to hope it would. Once they were in motion, contracting their drawn-out line into a tight knot, the foxes were at a loss. Too late to save his comrades who'd already fallen, Major Safford saw that putting his hares on the move made them nearly impervious, even to these deadly swordfoxes. No longer held to one spot that they were forced to defend, this flank of the Long Patrol was able to avoid any further casualties.

The foxes pursued, harrying at the outer perimeter of the hares who were now concentrated into a single large mass near the center of the vermin line. Before the fox attack could be pressed further, the hares drove straight into the vermin ranks. Against so focused a push, the rats and weasels had not a chance, and their line was breached almost immediately. The Long Patrols of Major Safford spilled through the break in the enemy lines and past them onto the western, seaward slopes of Salamandastron. Free and clear of Urthblood's forces, and with nothing worse than minor scratches and bruises to show for their audacity, the twenty-nine surviving hares of the left Long Patrol flank charged up the mountain, making for the less heavily defended portions of their enemy's formation and hopefully a way into their occupied home.

Four of the swordfoxes deployed to this side of the battle had been killed. The half-dozen who remained knew better than to tangle with the berserk badger tearing through the vermin on the slopes below them; instead they withdrew to the landward side of the south slopes to assist Machus and Urthblood against the Long Patrols there.

It would be up to the higher defensive lines to keep Safford's force out of Salamandastron now. And if those hares thought that getting through Urthblood's mice, hedgehogs, shrews and otters would be a walk in the spring rain, they'd be in for yet another rude awakening.

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Up in the tunnel mouth, Winokur was forcing himself to watch the progress of the battle, as much as he would have preferred not to.

His concerns were not just for the many brave and noble creatures on both sides who were losing their lives, or for the prospects of peace, which looked to be sliding into oblivion with each passing moment. There was a more immediate concern which held his attention. And when he saw the seaward flank of hares break through the vermin containment line to the outside of the battle proper and commence their run up the slopes alongside Urthblood's defensive wedge, Winokur could restrain himself no longer.

Even though Saybrook's otter regiment was the one closest to the tunnel entrance, they were still too far away for the young otter to make out which of those defenders was his father. Standing their ground with their backs to him, they all looked much the same from this vantage. It wasn't until Winokur had crossed half the distance between the tunnel and the otter regiment that he was able to single out the one he sought.

Warnokur gave a start when he felt the tap on his shoulder. Everybeast in the higher tiers was intent upon the action unfolding below them. Warnokur glanced back to see his son standing right behind him. "Wink, lad, what're you doin' out here?"

"Come inside, Dad."

"Huh?"

"It's not safe out here. Everything's flying apart. Those hares are headed this way, and they're serious about fighting."

"An' I ain't?" Warnokur barked, resisting the gentle but insistent tugging on his shoulder. "Wink, I hadta bust Cap'n Saybrook's rudder t' convince 'im to let me be part o' this line. I been a soldierbeast in Lord Urthblood's army fer a season now. I can't just abandon my duty when we hit rough seas. I belong out 'ere. Now stop makin' me look bad in front o' me mates!"

"You were a Redwaller before you were a part of this army," Winokur argued. "Even if you never spent much time there. Captain Saybrook and Lord Urthblood would understand if you decided not to fight."

"Ye're right that I never spent much time at th' Abbey, Wink. I was an irresponsible lout when it came t' bein' a proper father to you. But I know about responsibility now, thanks to alla these fine beasts around us. They count on me as much as I count on them, an' we don't abandon each other, 'specially not in battle. This's my place, Wink. An' I ain't leavin'."

Winokur set his jaw. "I'm here as the official representative of Redwall. I could order you, in the name of the Abbess, to come back inside with me."

Warnokur shook his head sadly. "Sorry, Wink, but I take my orders from Cap'n Saybrook now."

The very otter in question stuck his head forward and stared down the line toward them. "Is there a problem in th' ranks?" Saybrook yelled out.

"No, sir!" Warnokur responded sharply.

"Good," Saybrook nodded. "Wink, either grab yerself a javelin an' join our line, or go back inside an' stop distractin' my troops. There's a war goin' on, in case you hadn't noticed. I need eyes forward an' full readiness from every otter in my squad, so stow th' gab!"

Winokur winced. He hadn't expected to be so sharply reprimanded by the otter captain. But he was not ready to give in just yet. He went over to Saybrook and said into the Northlander's ear, "He'll listen to you, sir. Please tell him to come back inside with me. He shouldn't be out here!"

"Sorry, lad," Saybrook said in a more reconcilliatory tone, "but it were his decision, an' he argued hard t' persuade me. An' I need every otter I can get. Yer Pappy's never belonged to anything like this before, an' he takes his duty with us mighty serious. I'm not gonna order him outta th' line if he doesn't wanna go."

"Urthblood's troops are being massacred down there!"

"Thanks fer remindin' us," Saybrook said sourly. "But it's Urthfist who's doing most of the massacrin', an' I gotta feelin' Lord Urthblood's gonna take his brother to task before that mad badger gets anywhere near us. It's the hares we'll prob'ly end up squarin' off against."

Winokur gazed down at all the slain vermin who'd perished at the paws of the Long Patrols. "They're no picnic either."

"We'll be ready for 'em. They'll find us otters make lots tougher targets, once we get movin', than anybeast they've faced so far today."

"But ... my Dad could be killed."

"We could all be killed, Wink ... even you. An' fightin's th' best chance we got of keepin' that from happenin'."

Winokur swallowed his bile, knowing he was totally overmatched in this argument. He suddenly felt very foolish. What was he doing out here in the middle of a battle, telling warriors not to fight? The time for peace - his time - was past. He was the only beast out here who didn't belong.

"Well, good luck," Winokur said weakly, then turned and made his way back up to the entrance tunnel.

Saybrook scanned the seaward side of the slopes. "Looks like those hares are gonna come in along Abellon an' Tillamook's lines," he called out to his fellow otters. "They could get here in a hurry if th' mice 'n' hogs can't stop 'em. Stand ready, mateys! This fight ain't over yet!"

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When Abellon saw the Long Patrols racing upslope along the outer margin of Urthblood's army, he redeployed some of his mouse soldiers westward to bolster the hedgehog forces at the edge of their defensive formation there. Major Safford and his hares drew past the milling vermin flank they'd smashed through, only to find themselves facing a solid line of grimly determined mice and 'hogs.

Still, such woodlanders were far less intimidating to the hares than the vermin and swordfoxes they'd already battled. "Now this is more like it!" Patrol Leader Keady declared, pressing in upon a pair of opposing mice with his longtime companion hares Dellow and Saticoy. "Right, move aside, mousies! Comin' through here! Comin' through!"

Keady made to shoulder his way in past the mice, dipping his spear to knock their blades aside. One mouse adroitly dodged his weapon past the shaft and lunged forward, burying his sword between Keady's ribs. The astonished hare let out one last wide-eyed grunt of surprise and fell back, dead.

Saticoy ran the mouse through with his javelin, snarling, even as beside him a hedgehog club smashed down on Dellow's skull. Saticoy's shaft was still embedded in his victim when a second mouse jumped up on his slain companion's shoulders and took Saticoy across the throat with one swing of his sword. Saticoy stumbled backward, paw clutched at his slashed and bleeding neck.

"Aw, bloody fur!" Captain Longmeadow cried. "Don't tell me Urthblood's gonna make us kill mice now! I don't wanna kill mice!"

"They don't seem t' have any bally qualms 'bout slayin' us!" Safford shouted back. "Those 'hogs, neither! Step back, hares! Disengage!"

The Long Patrols pulled back at the Major's command. For several moments the two lines of combatants glared at each other across a gap of three paces. One mouse and one hedgehog lay dead; of the hares, Keady was slain and Dellow and Saticoy were both grievously injured, perhaps mortally.

Safford threw a glance downslope. None of the vermin seemed to be chasing after them, and there was no sign of any foxes, thank the fates. Urthfist could still be seen near the base of the mountain, laying into every enemy he could reach. Far from rounding on him in force, the remaining vermin were scattering before him, fleeing for their lives. The wrathful Badger Lord was a more fearsome foe all by himself than any strength of hares; he had the entire bottom of the slope to himself, and needed no assistance from the Long Patrol.

The Major snapped his attention back to the predicament before them. Captain Longmeadow had spoken for all the Patrols: no hare among them could easily bring itself to slay mice. Not even Urthblood's mice. It simply wouldn't be honorable. But the defensive line of mouse and hedgehog soldiers ran almost all the way up to the side tunnel in an unbroken chain. If they wanted into Salamandastron, they'd have to get past these fierce woodlanders first.

He leaned over to Traveller. "Ideas, ol' chum?"

"We came up here t' clear th' way fer Lord Urthfist," Traveller said. "So, let's clear th' bally way! Follow my lead, chaps!"

And with that, the seasoned scout hare leapt and flew at the ranks facing them; two mice went sprawling from this double-footed assault. Before the other mice and hedgehogs could turn in upon this break in their lines, Traveller was up and kicking again. This time, two 'hogs were sent tumbling.

"All right! Who else wants t' dance? Eulaliaaaa!"

"That's wot we'll do, hares!" Safford shouted. "Use yer shafts only t' parry! We'll kick our way through this jolly party!" The Long Patrols instantly flooded in through the breach Traveller had made, and opened new holes in the enemy's lines as they launched themselves at the mice and hedgehogs.

The strategy proved a winner. In no time at all the hares pummeled and pounded their way through this sector of Urthblood's defenders. Foot-fighting was something the Long Patrols excelled at, and it was a perfect method for scattering the small beasts who opposed them now. Furthermore, it was a compromise they could live with; while a few mice were unavoidably killed when the powerful kicks snapped their necks or crushed their larynxes, most were merely bowled over and stunned by well-placed strikes at their chests and stomachs which left them winded and with more than a few cracked ribs among them. The downside to this was that many recovered from their blows and came back for more, causing the hares to battle the same mouse two or three times. It was more work, but easier on the hares' conscience.

The hedgehogs were more of a problem. Many were armed with both sword and club, and were able to inflict heavy damage upon the hares' legs when they came in for their kicks. Others, seeing a kick aimed their way, merely spun and stiffened their spines, resulting in some badly pricked soles for the hares. At last the Long Patrols were left no choice but to battle the hedgehogs as they had the vermin below. This left more dead 'hogs in their wake then they would have liked, but it was still nothing compared to the carnage they'd visited upon the rats, ferrets and weasels they'd faced. And since they were focused on getting through the mouse-hedgehog lines as quickly as they could to gain the next echelon, the numbers of dead was kept much lower than it would have been in a full-scale engagement.

In spite of their leg wounds, the hares made it past this region of their adversary without further loss. The three casualties they'd suffered upon their first contact with the mice and 'hogs had reduced their own number to twenty-six. That number now stood upon the next ridge up, the trailing half-dozen turned backwards to discourage pursuit from the mice and hedgehogs with some choice spear thrusts. The rest faced forward, pausing for a moment to catch their breath as they sized up the last line of Urthblood's defenses.

A short way above them, the double-arc of shrews and otters stood as the only thing between them and the entrance to Salamandastron.

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Down where this latest engagement had begun, Saticoy lay bleeding from his sliced throat, drifting in and out of pained consciousness.

A mouse soldier came over and knelt alongside him, appraising the dying hare grimly. Saticoy summoned up some of his last remaining strength and drew his dagger on the enemy creature, teeth bared in a weak snarl.

The mouse deftly grabbed the knife out of Saticoy's paw, slippery with his own blood, and laid it aside.

"You're out of this fight, either way," the Northlander said to him, pulling a length of bandage cloth from his belt pack and wrapping it firmly around Saticoy's gashed neck. "But if you hold still and let me work on you, I might just be able to save your life."

Saticoy tried to ask why, but his vocal cords were wrecked, and he felt himself slipping away again. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the darkness and left himself at the mercy of the foe who now strove to save him.


	9. Chapter 71

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Seventy-One

On the inland side of the southern slopes, Urthblood's mouse-hedgehog lines were likewise being engaged, but in a different manner than their counterparts off to the seaward flank of Salamandastron. Here, Machus and his swordfoxes were at their most lethal, exacting a heavy toll upon the Long Patrols as they duelled back and forth across the mountainside. When the six surviving foxes from the assault on Major Safford's flank raced over to join the battle on this side, matters grew even more dire for the hares of the shattered right lines. On top of it all was Urthblood, charging through the chaos like a force of nature, obliterating any group of Long Patrol who tried to stand against him.

The only advantage the hares had left to them was their speed. The field of battle had grown sparse enough of warriors, down here where the slaughter had been worst, that the hares had plenty of room to dodge and weave amongst their less fleet-footed foes. This they did, whenever an unyielding press of foxes threatened to overwhelm them or the indestructable, unstoppable Urthblood bore down on them. The few remaining rats and weasels were all but ignored as the hares ran around them to elude the far deadlier badger and foxes. The Long Patrol were definitely on the defensive now, literally running for their lives between brief clashes.

To give themselves more area in which to range, the hares made several forays up into the region defended by the mice and hedgehogs. One of these probing groups was led by the young runner Hanchett. He had spotted one creature standing tall among the mice, its long-necked head sticking up high above the shorter rodents around it. Hanchett and his two companions fought their way past several mice and 'hogs, making a beeline toward the incongruous stoat.

The young hare had some unfinished business to attend to here.

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"'ere they come, Jansy mate."

"I see 'em, Broggs. An' I see an old friend leadin' the charge up this way. Looks like he's got a mind to settle that score we left up in the air back at Redwall."

Jans and Broggen, standing in the midst of the mouse lines, tensed for combat, as did all the mice around them. A dozen or so paces below, the charging trio of hares scattered the mice and 'hogs in their way with bludgeons, thrusts and flying kicks. And then they were through, facing this portion of Abellon's lines.

"The stoat's mine!" Hanchett yelled to his two fellow hares. "Watch my sides, chaps! Eulaliaaa!"

Armed with only a spear, Hanchett launched into the chained mouse and stoat duo with a vengeance. Jans and Broggen had all they could do to ward off the hare's furious blows. This wasn't like their encounter at Redwall; now that Hanchett knew both creatures were in the service of Urthblood, and the heat of battle was upon him, he was more than a match for the twin fighters.

After a few moments, it became clear that Jans was at a serious disadvantage. He was as fine a swordsbeast as any mouse was, but not nearly in the same league as Machus and the swordfoxes, and his short blade was not equal to the challenge of meeting the hare's much longer spear. Unlike most of the battles they'd fought in the Northlands, Jans was only getting in the way here, and he knew it.

"He's all yours, Broggs!" the mouse shouted, and stepped back to let the stoat have the full freedom of fighting Hanchett on his own terms. Jans continued to hold his sword at the ready, keenly alert for any move by the hare that might allow him an opening. None of his fellow mice would be coming to their aid; Hanchett's two immediate comrades were keeping this section of the line busy, and elsewhere other small groups of hares could be seen battling along the mouse-hedgehog ranks. He and Broggen were on their own here.

And then it happened. Hanchett's Long Patrol expertise was simply too much for the stoat's Northlands training to overcome, and Hanchett was able to knock Broggen's legs out from under him. The stoat fell to the ground, partly pulling Jans along with him. Not that this made any great difference to the mouse; the moment he saw his partner go down, Jans leapt forward to cover Broggen. But his awkward haste left him in no position to use his blade to full advantage, and the hare's spear thrust that was meant to dispatch the stoat ended up taking Jans through the belly as the mouse jumped between Hanchett and Broggen.

For many heartbeats Hanchett simply stood and stared at what he'd done. Moments before he'd been battling both these creatures as mortal enemies, but the sight of the Northlands mouse lying slain atop the companion to which he was permanently chained had broken through the hare's battle frenzy. A mouse had sacrificed itself for a stoat ... a woodlander giving its life for a vermin, without thought or hesitation. It was not a thing for which Hanchett had been prepared - least of all when he was the one responsible for taking the mouse's life.

Broggen sprang back to his feet, javelin gripped tight in his paw and teeth bared. There were tears in his eyes as he glared at Hanchett, silently daring the hare to come at him again.

Hanchett did not resume the attack. His hatred of the stoat had not abated, but this turn of events had momentarily robbed him of his battle enthusiasm, and he held his ground across from Broggen.

And then the other hares were at his side, pulling him away from this scene of carnage. "Oh, good, you got one of 'em, Hanch. But we gotta go now - foxes comin' this way, an' fast!"

Hanchett let himself be led away from his stoat enemy, and was soon running back downslope with his comrades to stay ahead of the lethal swordfoxes.

Broggen stood unmoving, watching the hares receding from this area of the battle. Then the javelin slipped from his grasp, and he fell down over Jans, protecting the small sad bundle with the upper half of his body, and wept.

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Elsewhere in the mouse and hedgehog lines, the Long Patrol did not have it so easy. Like Safford's force, they seriously underestimated the ferocity and ability of these smaller woodland troops. They paid for this miscalculation in blood: three hares perished when they were caught between a line of steadfast hedgehogs above and the swordfoxes who'd pursued them from below. Another hare, of Captain Taywood's fighting group, fell to mouse swords before the Captain realized that this territory of mice and 'hogs was hardly the haven he'd supposed it would be. He called a retreat, kicking a mouse in the head and spearing a hedgehog through its belly to clear an escape route as two determined foxes wove through the shorter creatures to get at the hares. Taywood's group left the foxes in the dust as they sped back downhill.

On their way down they practically collided with the trio led by Sergeant Dardanelle. "Stay away from those foxes if you can, Sergeant!" Taywood warned his fellow hare. "For every one o' them we put down, they take two or three o' us with 'em! Never seen anything like it!"

"Don't I know it, Cap'n." Dardanelle waved a paw at his two companions. "Us three's all that's left o' two groups. Thought we'd best pool our bally resources, wot? By th' way, Lieutenant Hockaby's dead, sir."

"Oh, snuff!" Taywood growled. Earlier he'd passed Captain Polifly's lifeless body lying upon the slopes. They were running out of hares, and they were running out of officers. There certainly wouldn't be any time for in-the-field promotions in this melee. The surviving Long Patrols would just have to get along as best they could, same as they would if they engaged an enemy on patrol without an officer present. He wondered how things were going with the Major over on his side of the fighting. If only Lord Urthfist hadn't charged into this like he did, and they'd been able to draw up a real plan of attack!

"Hullo, wot's that?" Sergeant Dardanelle was looking past the Captain, farther up toward the tunnel entrance. Taywood turned and followed his gaze.

Up and across the slope, Major Safford's force was visible where it had broken through the mouse-hedgehog lines and now stood squared off against the final defenses of shrews and otters.

Taywood's heart lifted. "Looks like the Major's suffered pretty heavy losses, but they're still all together, and they've almost made it inside! Sergeant, I think we're about to get Salamandastron back!"

"Should we go try 'n' help them, Cap'n sir?" Dardanelle asked.

Taywood glanced down across the mountainside. He spotted Lord Urthfist, who seemed once again to have run out of vermin to slay; the badger stood amidst piles of the dead, all alone, casting about him for fresh prey.

"Actshully, Sergeant, I think some of us oughtta stay down here in case His Lordship comes under heavy assault an' needs us t' draw 'em off again. This war won't be won 'til he's back inside an' in full control o' this bally mountain. With these killer foxes swarmin' all over th' place an' his fur-forsaken brother on th' move, he might need our jolly help yet."

Taywood scanned the slopes around them. "Wot we should really do is get all o' us who're left back t'gether, an' head down t' where Lord Urthfist is. Like t' see how those bloody foxes fare if we an' Urthfist all come at 'em at once!"

"Right, sir! I'll spread the word!" Dardanelle's group took off, leaping and dodging around charging foxes who tried to block their way. Their adversary having escaped them, the foxes honed in on Taywood's quartet instead, while a knot of weasels charged from the other side.

"Well, chaps, teatime's over!" Taywood yelled, and the four hares shot off, leaving the foxes and weasels staring at each other across empty ground.

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Machus was gashed and bleeding from half a dozen different places. But he had slain four hares, and prowled the battlefield looking for number five.

The swordfox limped badly. Strive as he might to ignore the pain, his body could not be fooled. Machus had taken a javelin thrust deep into his left thigh, and lost two toes on the same footpaw. The javelin had missed any major arteries, but the muscle damage was bad enough that it would have removed many a less dedicated warrior from this battle. The other injuries were minor flesh wounds by comparison, and Machus was determined to fight until the victor was decided, or until he could fight no more.

Machus came across Urthblood standing over the bodies of four hares. The badger seemed distracted as he glanced up at his swordfox chieftain. "How goes it, Machus?"

Machus reported his score, making no mention of his own state; Urthblood would be able to observe that easily enough for himself.

"But we have a problem, Lord. The seaward flank of hares has reorganized itself into an attack thrust. They've already breached Abellon and Tillamook's lines. If they get through the otters and shrews, they'll be inside Salamandastron."

"Yes, I know," Urthblood stated. "I saw them."

"Should we move more forces back to protect the entrance?"

Urthblood shook his head. "It means nothing now. My destiny lies here, on the mountainside. This is where the battle will be lost or won. Leave the defense of the tunnel mouth to Saybrook and Bremo. If some of the Long Patrol get into the mountain, it will avail them little."

"As you say, My Lord." Machus hobbled over to his master's side. "If what you say is true, I would like to stay with you."

Urthblood gave Machus an appraising look. "You're injured. Can you still fight?"

"Oh, I can fight." Machus forced a laugh. "Just don't enter me in any footraces! Any hare who comes within reach of my sword will regret it."

Captain Mattoon came jogging over to them. "M'Lord, my platoon's about half gone, an' th' rats got hit even worse. Cermak's dead, an' I don't know if any of th' stoats 'n' ferrets are still alive. Them hares won't stand still long 'nuff fer us to engage 'em proper. They're pickin' off us remainin' weasels 'n' rats one or two at a time, then runnin' away. We can't catch up with 'em! Whatcha want we should do?"

"Consolidate your remaining forces as much as you can. Form a wedge you can defend from all sides. Let the hares come to you, if they are so inclined. Otherwise, stand ready and do not engage them."

"An' if yer brother heads our way?" the weasel captain asked with obvious worry.

Urthblood gazed downslope to where Urthfist stood. "Too many of my beasts have died already. It is time to put an end to this. Come along, Machus. If you wish to remain at my side, I will walk slowly."

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Urthfist had slain every rat, ferret and stoat who'd carried the badger-made armaments, and quite a few more who hadn't. The frenzied pace of his killing spree had left him drained, and now that there was a break with no vermin within striking range, the pure instinctive rage of the Bloodwrath began to recede. His reason and rationality reasserting themselves in his fevered brain, Urthfist took a clear-eyed look at what he had wrought.

Countless dead vermin lay all about him. But in the midst of them could be seen the twelve hares Major Safford had lost from his flank before breaking out through the side of the fighting and heading upslope. Across the way, more Long Patrol corpses lay scattered amongst the many enemy dead. They were easy to spot in the tangles and piles of bodies, with their long ears, long legs, standard-issue Patrol garb and mostly-white scut tails. But their blood was just as red as their foe's.

"Oh, Great Seasons," Urthfist groaned as he absorbed the carnage, "what have I done? What have I done?"

His gaze climbed up to where heavy fighting was still underway. There, among the earthy colors of clothing of both sides, was an island of bright crimson, flashing in the late day sun. The beast who wore that red steel stood out not only because of its armor, but also due to its height and bulk.

Reason fled, as the full fury of the Bloodwrath once more took over Urthfist, controlling him like a marionette on the strings of a vengeful puppetmaster. Waving his great broadsword before him, he charged up, up to meet the evil creature who had brought all this to pass.

"Eulaliaaaaa!"

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Major Safford and his hares never heard their master's final battle cry. Even as Urthfist bellowed his challenge and raced upslope toward Urthblood, the Long Patrol far above him let loose with a war call of their own and launched themselves at the shrews and otters barring their way into Salamandastron.

The hares held nothing back. Their experience with the mice and hedgehogs had taught them to regard all of Urthblood's soldiers as deadly enemies, who would slay the attacking Long Patrols without a second thought. Safford meant to assault this last tier of Urthblood's defenders with no less force than they'd shown their vermin opponents.

Unfortunately for the hares, who had been seriously fatigued even before the first drop of blood had been spilled in this battle, they were now fighting on their last reserves of strength. Their prolonged stand-off against the vermin, followed by their desperate engagement of the foxes and their flight from them through the thick of the enemy, and then the unexpectedly fierce resistance from Urthblood's mice and 'hogs, had left Safford and his fellow warriors so drained that they swayed on their feet from the dizzying weariness if they stood in one spot for too long. The pain from their various leg wounds actually helped them stay focused on the task at paw; the aches and twinges cut through the creeping bleariness of mind like a bucket of cold water in the face. Still, these injuries would be a mixed blessing, hindering the hares in battle even as they helped keep the Long Patrols alert through their exhaustion.

And against the foe they faced now, they could not afford to be in anything less than top fighting form.

The otters outnumbered the hares nearly two-to-one, and every member of Saybrook's squad would have been a beast-for-beast match for the Long Patrols even in the best of times. Now, encumbered by injury and fatigue, Major Safford had no idea what he and his hares were charging into. The only saving grace for them was that the otters felt a certain kinship with the Long Patrol, and were more reluctant to use lethal force against them than the other creatures of Urthblood's army had been. They sought only to keep the hares from entering the mountain fortress, and would kill only if they were left no other choice.

The shrews, however, felt no such reluctance at using deadly force, and the hares had to get through them first.

It did not happen at all like it had when the hares charged into the forward lines of rats, ferrets and stoats. Bremo and his shrews had been watching that first engagement very closely, and saw how the hares' battering-ram approach had given the taller defenders no chance to fight over the swordrats' shoulders. Even though these otter-shrew lines were arranged along a similar plan, Bremo had no intention of following a strategy that had failed miserably once already. He would not make his shrews hold to their line only so that they could be driven back against the otters by the more powerful hares, to be pinned down and slaughtered in numbers.

When the two opposing forces met, the shrews did not even try to hold their formation. Their strategy was simple. Three or four shrews would scream and leap atop a single hare, slashing and stabbing with their shortswords. Any hare so besieged would only be able to slay one of its attackers, or two if they were very lucky, before it was slain itself. Then the surviving shrews would pick themselves up and join a massed assault on a new hare. Bremo's shrews were, ounce-for-ounce, perhaps the nastiest and most vicious fighters in Urthblood's army, and did not shy away from dying in battle. They were only too willing to sacrifice themselves now in their suicidal swarms over the attacking hares. As the arc of otters stood fast, the shrews closed in on the Long Patrols from both sides, leaping into the fray with complete abandon.

The hares were no better prepared for this savage tactic than they'd been for the stiff resistance from the mice and hedgehogs. Three of their number went down even before the first otter javelin clashed against its hare counterpart. The burly waterbeasts were easily able to hold their line against the Long Patrols, due mainly to the unexpected shrew strategy. When Safford's hares saw what the shrews were up to, they had no choice but to turn about to the sides in an attempt to stem this living tide that threatened to wash over them.

The shrews could not keep it up. Once the tightly-packed hares began protecting each other, it became impossible to single any one of them out for the shrews' group tackles.

"Kick yer way out from th' sides, hares!" Safford yelled. "Scatter these nasty li'l blighters so they can't gang up on us! Concentrate on the otters, across a wide front - we gotta break their line!"

The Long Patrols were quick to follow their commander's orders. Legs and footpaws that were already gashed, pricked and bruised would suffer further abuse as the hares kicked their way through the milling shrews. Even in number, the tiny beasts were no match for the powerful hares, who kicked at the shrews and swatted at them with spear and javelin and basically just plowed right through them. Two more hares fell before the press of shrews was thoroughly smashed and dispersed; provoked by these losses, the Long Patrol returned the shrews' savagery in kind, slaying enough of them so that they would not be able to regroup easily.

Then the hares turned back into the otters with a vengeance.

This time the otter line did not hold. Bremo's remaining shrews were too widely strewn about to substantially hamper the hares now. More than that, the shrews' brutal actions had fired up the Long Patrols as they hadn't been since the battle began. Now Safford's troops were keyed to kill or be killed, and they were not about to show their foe the slightest mercy. With shouts of "No Quarter!" and "Eulaliaaa!" they smashed into Captain Saybrook's line across a front several otters wide.

The ferocity of the assault left the otters pushed back, bowled over, knocked aside and, in more than one case, slain. The hares poured through the gap they'd created. The otters turned about to face the enemy who was now behind them, while the anchoring ends of their arc rushed inward from either side to try to block the Long Patrol before they could gain the tunnel entrance. The neat defensive lines were quickly reduced to a shambles as hares and otters began fighting each other wherever they met.

Captain Bremo had been slain, but that didn't stop the surviving shrews from mustering their meagre forces and charging into the melee after the hares.

Warnokur shouted his battle cry as lustily as anybeast there, legs pumping as he sprinted over the rockface to add his javelin to the cause. Winokur watched from the tunnel above; there was no way that he couldn't.

Warnokur had the misfortune of choosing to square off against Captain Longmeadow. The hare captain was livid over the loss of his Lieutenant, Cleburne, at the paws of the shrews, and was out for blood. Longmeadow was one of the few hares of the Patrols to favor a sword over spear or javelin, and his mastery of that weapon was nearly perfect.

This particular contest was over almost before it began. As Winokur looked on in horror, Longmeadow parried aside Warnokur's javelin thrust, then scored a deep slash above the otter's knee. Warnokur recovered and renewed his assault, ignoring the pain of his leg wound. The hare swept aside several more javelin thrusts and swings, then spun in like a whirlwind past the sharpened shaft and expertly ran his blade through Warnokur's throat. Longmeadow vaulted over the fallen otter and set off in search of anymore who stood between him and the entrance.

Winokur could not stop himself. In a flash he was out of the tunnel and sprinting down toward his father, his habit flapping around his thick tail as he ran. "Redwall!" he screamed until it strained his burning lungs. "Redwalllll!"

Longmeadow had come up against Brot and Olimpo, who battled the hare as one, and so Winokur was able to speed past the Long Patrol captain and reach his fallen parent's side without meeting opposition.

The young otter knelt down beside his father, but Warnokur's eyes gazed sightlessly up at the sky, already glazing over with the mist of death. The wound in his neck was horrendous; nobeast could have survived it.

Winokur picked up his Warnokur's javelin, leaning on it for support even as he knelt there, oblivious to the battle raging all around him. The weapon felt reassuring in his paw, a reminder of his own training under Montybank. Tears coursed freely down his cheeks for the father he was only just beginning to know after so many seasons.

Major Safford came upon Winokur then. The fire of battle was in his eyes; he saw only an otter holding a javelin, and that equalled an enemy who would kill him if he didn't slay it first. The fact that this particular otter was wearing a Redwall habit didn't register on the Major's frenzied awareness. Winokur didn't even see the senior Long Patrol commander coming as Safford raised his javelin to put it through the top of Winokur's skull.

But Winokur did hear the distinct hiss of the arrow, even through the tumult of the surrounding battle. He glanced up, and saw Major Safford standing over him, still as a statue, javelin raised to deliver the mortal blow. A single feathered shaft protruded from the hare's bloody left eye. As Winokur watched, Safford fell backward upon the mountain slope to join Warnokur in staring, unseeing, up at the blue sky.

Winokur struggled to lift his father in his arms and carry Warnokur back up to the tunnel; somehow he felt he must remove his slain parent from this maelstrom of death and violence. Nobeast stopped him as he staggered up the slope and to the mountain entrance. Winokur didn't know whether it was Alexander or Lady Mina who had loosed that shaft from the crater rim above. But whichever one it was, Winokur knew he owed them his life.


	10. Chapter 72

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Seventy-Two

Sergeant Traughber grabbed Longmeadow by the shoulder. "Somebeast's shooting at us from up above!" he yelled at his captain. "They got the Major!"

Longmeadow let his sergeant pull him back a step from Brot and Olimpo; the two otters did not press the attack, glad to have a break in the fighting so they could catch their breath.

"Bloody fur!" Longmeadow grimaced. With Lieutenants Cleburne and Tomball slain, the Major's death left him as the only Long Patrol officer on this side of the mountain. There was always Traveller, of course - that veteran scout could command the junior hares as well as any major or captain.

"We gotta send some hares up t' get 'em, sir, or they'll pick us all off!" Traughber insisted, ignoring the fact that the only arrow shot at them so far had been the one which slew Safford, and saved Winokur.

"Reckon we hafta," Longmeadow agreed after a moment's silent deliberation.

"Looks like there's only one or two of 'em," Traughber went on. "I saw 'em peeking over th' rim. Shouldn't take too many of us t' go up there an' put things right."

"Okay," Longmeadow nodded. "You're in charge of it, Sergeant. Take five or six others with you, an' climb up by the western slopes - easier goin' there, an' with luck you might be able to catch 'em by surprise."

"Aye, sir!" Sergeant Traughber spun and raced away through the confusion of fighting, grabbing up the first five hares he came across who were not immediately occupied with shrew or otter foes. His assault team thus assembled on the run, the six of them broke clear of the battle zone and sped around the southwest limb of the mountain to commence their hurried climb.

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Urthblood and Machus stopped on the slopes just below Captain Mattoon's hastily-assembled formation of his remaining weasels and rats. All around them, Long Patrol hares streamed downward to rejoin their own badger master, occasionally harried by pursuing swordfoxes. Word had spread among the various knots of surviving hares to disengage from all fighting on the upper slopes and come back down to be at Lord Urthfist's side; the two warlords would meet to decide this conflict for themselves.

It was a pathetically small number of hares who now assembled downslope to bolster their Lord. Urthblood's fighters, and the foxes in particular, had exacted a heavy toll indeed upon the Long Patrols. As had Urthblood himself.

The red-armored badger held out a cautionary paw to his swordfox chieftain. "Stand well clear, Machus. This will be between myself and my brother, and our contest is likely to be a mighty one. Look to yourself; I do not want to lose you."

Obediently, Machus limped back from Urthblood, sword still drawn and alert for any hares who might try to blindside him. But most of the Long Patrols were already past, and none were in his immediate vicinity. A few of his fellow foxes drew up alongside him. Together, they awaited the arrival of their great foe.

Flanked by nearly a dozen of his hares, Urthfist charged uphill toward his waiting brother. The escort of Long Patrol kept a respectful distance off to either side of him; in the grip of the Bloodwrath, Urthfist was dangerous beyond words, and it would be risky even for his own hares to approach too closely.

Urthfist ground to a sudden halt a short way below Urthblood, fixing his sibling with eyes that were almost solid red with hate and fury. His hares fanned out ahead of him in a defensive posture, as the weasels, rats and foxes tensed themselves for further fighting.

"Hello, brother," Urthblood said.

"Murderer!" Urthfist bellowed back through his inchoate rage. "Liar! Traitor! Coward!"

"If you think me a coward," Urthblood waved for his brother to continue forward, "come here and let me prove you wrong."

"Eulaliaaaaa!" Urthfist roared, and charged Urthblood.

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Sergeant Traughber's assault group had reached the crater rim of Salamandastron without meeting any resistance whatsoever. And if the mountaintop defenders had not bothered to send so much as a single arrow or stone their way, it could only mean that their team had attained the plateau unnoticed. The intense battle upon the south slopes must have commanded the total attention of whatever troops Urthblood had stationed up on the roof of the fortress, leaving the western seaward face unwatched. Hope soared in the hearts of the hares. If the plateau was truly so lightly guarded, and the few defenders there were distracted by the main battle, then Traughber's team might even be able to wipe out the enemy here altogether and fight their way down into the mountain to retake the upper levels. Such valiant thoughts came naturally to the gallant Long Patrol hares.

Patrol Leader Woythaler was the first over the rim wall. No sooner had he set foot upon the caldera floor than the winged hunter swooped straight at him, clutching him in its talons and lifting him up off the plateau. A second bird of prey smashed into Traughber moments later as the rest of the hares vaulted over the low wall. He too was borne up into the air, the mountaintop tableau dropping away from him at a dizzying rate.

There seemed to be no more birds besides these two, although the Sergeant caught a glimpse of two red squirrels standing alongside the roof stairs. In the instant before he was carried too far for his voice to reach, Traughber shouted his final orders to the four hares left on the plateau.

"Keep goin'! Take the stairs! Go!"

The quartet waved acknowledgement and raced onward across the otherwise empty mountaintop toward the two squirrels.

Traughber writhed and twisted in the big bird's crushing grip. He still held his javelin in his paw. Just ahead, he could see Woythaler likewise flailing his limbs as he dangled from the raptor's talons. The other hare had lost his weapon in the surprise attack, and was totally at the mercy of the winged creature.

They were out over the northern slopes of Salamandastron now, where the mountainside was at its craggiest, and they were sickeningly high, much higher than even the plateau from which they'd been plucked. Traughber watched in horror as Woythaler was flung free from his bird's imprisoning grip to plummet down, down, until he smashed and careened off the unforgiving rockface so far below.

Traughber hooked his free paw around his bird's ankle even as the talon around him opened to release him on his own death drop. The hare hung on for dear life, but it was not only for himself that he resisted. The Sergeant had no illusions that he would survive this situation. But the enemy that bore him now was an enemy to all the Long Patrols, and to Lord Urthfist. Traughber still had his weapon, and he fully intended to do what he could to remove this danger to his Lord and his fellow hares.

"So that's yer bally game, featherbag?" Traughber shouted with bravado. "Well, if I'm goin' down, then you're jolly well goin' down too!"

The bird shook its leg under it, but Traughber held on tightly, stubbornly refusing to be dislodged. Hanging on by one paw, he harpooned his javelin into the bird's underside. It wore a tough jerkin over its breast as a sort of armor, but against the hare's strength and determination, the garment was no protection at all; the sharpened shaft easily pierced the vest and drove deep up into the raptor's vital regions.

The winged giant screamed, and tried to thrust its head under itself to get at Traughber with its deadly beak. But the effort of trying to stay aloft with the hare's weight dragging at one leg, and the pain of its injury, was too much, and it went into a momentary tumble. Laboring, the bird righted itself, only to be speared twice more by the hare's javelin.

The mighty skyhunter went into another tumbling fall, and this time there would be no recovery. Locked together, bird and hare plummeted to the coastal plain below.

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Alexander and Lady Mina ducked down the roof stairs as the four hares charged across the plateau toward them. Halpryn and Klystra had done what they could; now it would be up to the two squirrels to keep the Long Patrol out of Salamandastron.

They'd worked out their strategy while the hares had been climbing up the west face of the mountain. Now Alex and Mina sprinted down the stairs and along the narrow passage leading straight into the heart of the natural fortress. Reaching the end where the tunnel began to turn, they skidded to a halt. Mina took her strung longbow off her shoulder, notched an arrow to the string, and drew it back, sighting along the line of the tunnel. They stood far back in the shadows, but the afternoon sun still reached far enough down into the roof entrance to bathe most of the steps in a golden glow. Mina would be shooting from a refuge of shade while her targets would be brightly lit; she could not have asked for a better advantage.

"Stand back, Alex, and give me room to work," she ordered.

"I still don't know if I like this," said the Redwaller. "What if some of them get through?"

"We'll just have to make certain they don't ... ah!"

The first of the hares was visible, legs first, as it bounded down the steps. Mina waited until it was entirely in view, then loosed her shaft. The arrow took it through the heart and it toppled forward, skidding along the tunnel floor under its own momentum even as it died.

Working like a machine, like she had that long-ago-seeming day of the archery tournament on Redwall's lawns, Mina automatically reached back and plucked a second arrow from her quiver, brought it around to notch it, and pulled back the bowstring as she sighted on her new target.

The three remaining hares were down the steps and over their fallen comrade by this time. Her second arrow took the front hare in the throat and it too dropped, but they were committed to this assault, come what may. The two survivors continued their charge.

Mina set up for her third shot and let the arrow fly. The hares were very close now, tearing down the corridor for all they were worth. The third hare, like the first, was shot through the heart.

The last hare was too close now to shoot. Mina knew it, and was shifting her sturdy bow in her paws even as her third shaft found its mark. The squirrel Lady grasped the bow by one end, raised up so she could swing it like a club.

The hare leapt at her. Mina was able to dodge and smash the flying beast across the legs before it landed in a tumble. But archery was her favored skill, and the limited confines of the narrow tunnel worked against her. Mina tried to knock the spear out of her opponent's grasp before the hare could fully recover, but he was too experienced a fighter to surrender his weapon to her efforts. Fending off her longbow swings as he regained his feet, the hare kicked out at Mina and sent her crashing into the rock wall, hard.

Alex stepped in behind the hare and broke his own bow over its head. It wasn't a killing blow, but it came close. The hare grunted and collapsed to the floor.

Alex bent down to the female squirrel, cradling Mina's head in his paws. One came away bloodied. "Mina! Please, no! Mina!"

Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. She tried to sit up, winced, and leaned back against the wall. "Oooo, that smarts."

Alex smiled like a fool, but there were tears in his eyes. "Mina! I thought I'd lost you!"

"Can't get rid of me that easily, m'afraid." Mina gingerly touched the back of her head. "Oo! Am I bleeding?"

"Just a little." Alexander's voice cracked.

"Well, a head wound's nothing to fool around with. Better get me down to the kitchens so the moles can see to me properly. Wish I had a healer fox right now, but they're all rather busy at the moment."

Alex helped her to her feet and started to lead her away, but Mina stopped him. "Alex, is that hare dead?"

He glanced at the one he'd clobbered. "No, I don't think so ... "

"Well, then don't just leave him there! Bind his paws tightly."

"But, your head," Alex protested.

"You think I've got a headache now? Let one of those hares get loose in here, and that'll really be a headache!" Mina lowered herself to the floor once more to show she was serious. "I'll just rest here until you've done it. And make sure the bonds are tight! This is one beast we don't want sneaking up behind us!"

Alexander replayed in his mind the hare's suicidal charge down the tunnel. He certainly wouldn't disagree with Mina about that! Stooping, he unstrung their bows and set to the task of tying up the hare.

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When the two Badger Lords collided, Urthfist was roaring like a demon, but Urthblood was as stern and silent as the very mountain rock beneath his feet.

Urthfist swung his mighty broadsword at his brother with force enough to split granite. Urthblood stepped into the blow, shifting his weight with the flowing grace of a dancer, deflecting the swing with his own blade. Even as he did so, he grabbed Urthfist by the collar flange of the younger badger's armor with his free paw and used Urthfist's tremendous momentum to fling him roughly to the ground.

Urthblood did not press his advantage while his brother was down. Standing over Urthfist, sword held down at his side, he said, "Let us talk, my brother. I do not wish to fight you."

Urthfist let out a thunderous scream of incoherent rage and charged up at Urthblood once more. This time the two warriors clashed for many swings, the ring and clang of their blades almost deafening to the beasts looking on. There was no fighting going on now around the warring badgers; hare and rat and weasel and fox alike stood at the ready but unmoving, held breathless by the spectacle of two creatures so great locked in mortal combat. Everybeast there realized that it no longer mattered whether they fought one another. Whichever badger slew his brother would be the victor, and all else was inconsequential. The war had come down to this contest between the two Lords of the Mountain, as perhaps fate demanded. The Long Patrols stood tensed to come to their master's aid should any of Urthblood's troops make a move to join in against Urthfist, but none did. Likewise, Machus and his foxes, and Mattoon's weasels and rats, kept a sharp and suspicious watch on the hares, alert for any sign that they were about to wade into the duel in support of Urthfist. In truth, the fighting between Urthblood and Urthfist was so tumultuous that anybeast from either side who'd approached them would probably have been cut down by the flashing broadswords without either badger noticing.

After a score or more of savage swordswings, during which neither badger yielded so much as a paw's width to the other, Urthblood shoved Urthfist back several staggered paces. He did it almost nonchalantly, as if he'd only been indulging his sibling by fighting him, and now wished to put a stop to this foolish behavior. His unnatural steely calm still intact, he said, "Do not surrender to the curse of the Bloodwrath, brother. It will only destroy you. If you still possess any shred of your reason, lay aside your weapon and let the killing end."

"Lower my sword, ha!" Urthfist barked. "So you can slay me!"

"I could have slain you already. Your wrath has made you sloppy. There is a better way to end this. Step back, and let us speak as civilized beasts."

"You lie!" Urthfist bellowed. "You kill my hares, you and your vile vermin spawn! The prophecy was right! You are evil, and a monster! This will only end when you are dead!"

"Or you are, brother."

"Eulaliaaaa!" Urthfist roared, and threw himself at Urthblood once more.

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Traveller gazed down at Captain Longmeadow. An otter javelin protruded from between the fallen officer's ribs. Longmeadow's sword, red with the blood of his enemies, lay just beyond the reach of the slain hare.

The Captain had taken one of his final adversaries with him; the Northlands otter Brot sprawled lifelessly alongside Longmeadow on the mountainside. But taking on two of the otters at once had been more than even the skilled swordhare could manage. Brot's longtime friend Olimpo squatted back a ways from the bloody scene, staring at Traveller with hollow eyes but making no move to engage the veteran hare.

Traveller could empathize with the otter. He felt empty inside. The mounting toll of exhaustion and fatigue had finally broken over him like a storm surge. The fight had left him. And all around him, the same thing was happening to his fellow hares as the fury of the fighting gradually subsided.

The Long Patrol, outnumbered by Saybrook's otters at the start, had had their cause dealt a crippling blow by the death of Major Safford and the desertion of Sergeant Traughber's group for the plateau; none of those six would return to rejoin the battle. Now the loss of Longmeadow was the straw that broke their resolve. Adding to their sudden mood of defeat was the fact that they now faced otters - valiant goodbeasts like themselves, who fought nobly to keep the hares out of Salamandastron but otherwise took great pains not to slay any more of the Long Patrols than was necessary. Once the hares recognized that they could lower their weapons before the otters without the risk of deadly reprisal, many did so. And soon the battle petered out.

Traveller stood looking across at Captain Saybrook. He didn't feel like fighting anymore. He felt like crying - for Safford, and Longmeadow, and the two hares he'd seen swept off the mountaintop by Urthblood's birds, and all his other beloved comrades who would not see tomorrow. He wanted to cry, but tears would not come. He was too tired even for that. His legs wobbled uncertainly beneath him, and Traveller found himself leaning heavily on his spear as he regarded the otter chief.

"Well, isn't this a jolly fine pickle, wot?"

Saybrook set his jaw firmly. "You're not gettin' inside, so you might as well give it up now."

"Can't surrender, chap. We ain't allowed to."

"I didn't mean surrender," Saybrook said. "Just turn yerselves around an' walk away, while there's still some o' you left alive to do it."

Traveller nodded wearily. "You'd let us, too. You waterdogs've been holdin' back. You coulda slain more of us than you have."

"My orders was t' keep you outta this rock," Saybrook responded, "not slaughter you flopeared bigfoots. If I coulda done that without harmin' a hare 'mongst you, I woulda. But you didn't give us much choice, y'know?"

Traveller wanted to close his eyes and sleep for a fortnight. And, hopefully, wake to find this had all been some horrible nightmare.

"Sir!" one of the other hares yelled suddenly. "Traveller, sir! Look!"

Traveller's gaze followed his companion's pointing paw. Halfway between where they stood and the base of the mountain, Urthblood and Urthfist strove mightily with each other, amidst a wide circle of watching hares, foxes, weasels and rats. The old hare stiffened to attention, some of his former alertness returning to him.

"Reckon it don't matter what you 'n' me do now," Saybrook said. "This war's gonna be decided down there, not up 'ere."

"I ... we should be down there," Traveller muttered.

"I won't try 'n' stop you," Saybrook told him. "Like nothin' better'n t' head down there with you m'self. But my orders are t' guard this tunnel, come what may. Long as Lord Urthblood's still drawin' breath, we're bound to the duty he assigned us."

"An' if Urthfist slays Urthblood?" Traveller prompted.

Saybrook shrugged. "Then it'll be us who walk away, an' you'll get yer waterlogged mountain back, all to yerselves. Unless you try 'n' stop us from leavin' - then we'll fight to th' death. But, don't count on it. Urthblood's not a beast to lose a fight."

"Betcha he's never faced another bally Badger Lord before." Traveller turned to rally the remaining Long Patrols of the seaward flank. "C'mon, hares! Lord Urthfist's down there fightin' fer alla us! Let's go see if he needs a paw or three!"

00000000000

Winokur sat a short way back along the tunnel, bent over the still form of Warnokur. The young otter looked up at the sound of somebeast approaching, and saw his new friend Olimpo stop a few paces from him.

"You all right, Wink lad?" the Northlander asked.

Winokur gazed down at his father. "I ... I barely got a chance to know him ... "

Olimpo nodded solemnly. "Lotsa fine beasts lost their lives today. Brot an' me got the hare who slew yer Pappy, if it's any consolation to ye. Poor Brot didn't make it outta that contest alive 'imself. He was me best mate. I'll miss 'im sorely."

"No worse than all those hares will miss their own fallen friends, I reckon," Winokur sniffed. "Are all wars this horrible, Olimpo?"

"Ain't never been a war like this 'un. But it looks like it'll soon be over. The Long Patrol's broken off its attack on us. Urthblood and Urthfist have finally met up with each other down below. Goin' at it somethin' fierce. The hares all ran back down that way, which gives us waterdogs a bit of a much-needed breather. Cap'n Saybrook said I should come 'n' get you, since ye're th' peacemaker here. One o' those badgers ain't walkin' away from this, an' whichever one it is, you'll need to be there t' calm things 'tween the victor an' whatever troops're left from th' losin' side. If Urthfist wins, he an' his hares may try t' slaughter the rest of us unless there's a Redwaller at paw t' stop him. An' if Lord Urthblood's victorious, those confounded hares might battle on an' slay a lot more o' us unless you can talk 'em outta it. So, either way, yer time's nearly at paw, I figger."

"Yes ... I suppose you're right." Winokur stood. "Could you please stay with my father? I ... I just don't want him left alone."

"Shore thing, Wink. Now that th' fightin's stopped up this way, I reckon Cap'n Saybrook can spare me fer a spell. Yer Dad was a fighter brave an' true, an' I'd be honored to watch over 'im fer you."

"Thanks." Winokur glanced down at his garment; Abbess Mhera's venerable old habit, so painstakingly preserved and kept from excess wear and tear for the duration of the journey to Salamandastron, was now smeared and stained with Warnokur's blood. "I don't look like much of a peacemaker, do I?"

"You'll do jus' fine, Wink," Olimpo assured him. "Ye'd best be goin' now. That clash 'tween them two badgers down there could end at any instant, an' you'll wanna be there when it does."


	11. Chapter 73

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Seventy-Three

As the two badgers battled back and forth, it became quite clear to the onlooking ceatures that Urthblood held the upper paw. The duelling siblings were equally matched in size and strength, and Urthfist had the unrelenting fury of the Bloodwrath to drive him on, but Urthblood fought with a command of body and blade that was uncanny, turning himself and his sword into a single living, thinking weapon. While Urthfist raged and lashed out almost blindly, relying on his strength and force of will to overpower his opponent, Urthblood remained cold as steel, calculating and anticipating every parry, thrust, swing and counterswing with a silent intensity that betrayed no inward emotion. It was indeed as Urthblood had said; next to him, Urthfist looked sloppy. Urthblood took advantage of every mistake to drive his brother back, while making none himself. Several times he drove Urthfist off balance and forced him to the ground, but never once did Urthblood follow through to deliver the fatal blow. Perhaps he was toying with Urthfist, perhaps he was showing genuine mercy in his hesitation to take his brother's life, but whatever the reason, Urthfist remained alive and fighting long after he should have been dead.

Traveller led the remnants of Major Safford's seaward flank down the mountainside, flying through the mouse-hedgehog lines without engaging them. As the hares drew near the badger duel, a number of Urthblood's troops turned their way with weapons raised, but did not move to attack or block them. The Long Patrols cut a wide swathe around them to avoid confrontation, bypassing the hostile rats, weasels and foxes to join up with the other hares who stood below the two badgers.

Traveller sidled over to Hanchett, who was closest to paw. "See we're all just standin' 'round. So, it's down to single combat, wot?"

Hanchett shook his head uncertainly. "Not declared, sir. But nobeast on either side seems keen t' tangle, not with ... that goin' on." He motioned toward the battling behemoths. "Mostly, we're jus' guardin' Lord Urthfist's back, makin' sure none o' them verminous scum jump in against His Lordship."

"Looks like they're takin' the same bally approach, so I guess it's all down to Urthblood an' Urthfist now. How's His Lord holdin' up?"

"Could be better, sir. Watch a few moments, you'll see fer yerself. Urthblood, he fights like there's ice in his veins an' fire in his muscles. He's had Lord Urthfist on th' ropes a few times ... sir, we weren't sure whether we oughtta wade in ourselves, or let 'em be. Wot d' you think, Traveller sir?"

The veteran scout hare eyed Urthblood's troops, arrayed on the slopes just above them; like the hares, their attention was focused primarily on the two badgers, and they showed no indication of jumping into the fight. "If we join in, they will too, Hanchett chum. Right now, they got us outnumbered ... which wouldn't be so bad, if a dozen of 'em weren't those blasted foxes! They've been carvin' us up worse'n anybeast we ever faced before. No, I think we gotta let Urthblood an' Urthfist settle this. It's outta our paws now."

"Right, sir." Hanchett didn't sound totally convinced, but seemed content for the moment to accept Traveller's judgment.

And so the undeclared but observed single combat between Urthblood and Urthfist raged on, while scores of troops from the two sides forced themselves to stand by and watch without interfering. It was a fight unlike any Salamandastron had ever seen in its long history. Badger Lord had never fought Badger Lord before, and their clashing was like thunder on the mountainside. Even though Urthblood had plainly shown that his skill with a blade was greater than his brother's, at least in Urthfist's present Bloodwrath-fevered state, the younger badger was not to be deterred. On he fought, tapping into unimagined reserves of energy, unaware of the pain of his gashes, ignoring the mistakes that should have cost him his life, unheeding of any pause that might allow him to break off and end this duel, striving to find the opening in his brother's defense that simply wasn't there to be found. Clearly, Urthfist would not be content to depart this field of battle until one of them was dead, or until he collapsed from exhaustion.

It was beginning to look as if collapse was the more likely end. As the minutes passed - minutes that seemed like hours to the tensely watching and waiting creatures who hung on every sword swing - Urthfist began to falter more and more. His strength was finally starting to fail him, even as his mania continued to spur him on. The force of his swings was still tremendous, but now they were going wild, missing Urthblood's blade as often as not. Urthfist was a beast struggling through the haze of exhaustion, unable to summon the energy needed to direct his blade with his accustomed accuracy. But still he would not yield, flailing at Urthblood without cease.

"He's losin', sir," Hanchett bemoaned to Traveller.

"Doesn't look good, does it?" the old scout agreed. "Mebbe if a few o' us dove in an' pulled His Lordship back while th' rest of us keep those vermin at bay, we could get him outta this 'fore he gets hurt. T'would be risky, but ... hey!"

Hanchett took off before Traveller could finish. A fanatical light blazing in his eyes, the young hare ran around the two badgers toward the opposing line of rats, weasels and foxes. Swords and spears came up to greet him.

But these beasts were not his target. Hanchett sought only to get behind Urthblood. Veering aside in mid-charge, he easily avoided the half-circle of brandished enemy weapons. By the time Urthblood's troops saw what Hanchett intended, there was nothing they could do to stop him. Nobeast could outrun a hare under such conditions; he was quite beyond their reach.

Hesitating for just a heartbeat, picking a moment when Urthblood was just the slightest bit off-balance as he shifted his footing to fend off another ferocious sword swing from his brother, Hanchett tucked his head down into his paws and hurled himself full-body at the back of Urthblood's legs.

Machus alone of Urthblood's troops lunged forward when his master began to stumble.

It wasn't much of a stumble, really. Ordinarily, Hanchett's impact would barely have caused Urthblood to flinch. Even now, with his attention focused upon his brother's wavering onslaught, Urthblood stumbled but did not fall. Flinging his paws out to the sides as he was momentarily thrown off-kilter, he quickly regained his balance.

But it was all the opportunity Urthfist needed.

Seeing his brother's paw thrown out to help him recover his equilibrium, Urthfist closed in. The crimson-armored badger moved to shift his blade in front of him once more, but he'd left himself undefended for an instant too long. Even as his sword paw came forward to block the swing, Urthfist's blade caught it across the wrist, just below where the armor ended. Urthblood's sword clattered to the rocky ground, his severed paw still gripped tightly around the hilt.

Urthfist was oblivious to Machus, coming at him from the side with his own sword raised. The mad badger had eyes only for delivering the death blow to his mortal enemy.

Urthblood gave a roar of pain and flung himself backward onto the ground even as his paw went flying in a different direction, taking his weapon with it. But ground was not what the armored badger landed upon; Hanchett was behind him, just starting to rise from his assault on the enemy Lord. Now Urthblood's massive, steel-reinforced bulk smashed down atop the surprised hare, flattening him.

Overhead, Urthfist's death thrust met the empty air where Urthblood's face should have been. Urthblood rolled off Hanchett's tortured form toward his sword, which lay on the mountain slope two paces away.

Urthfist shifted position to swing at Urthblood again before he could recover his weapon, then felt a sudden lancing pain in his side. The afternoon's berserk fighting had left Urthfist's armor hanging loose and in disarray. The blade of Machus the Sword had found an unprotected spot in Urthfist's right side, just above the waist, and now that blade stuck half its length into the badger.

Urthblood's left paw closed around his severed right one. Holding his sword thus, he rose to his feet.

Other hares of the Long Patrol, alerted by Machus's entry into the fray even before the swordfox had reached Urthfist, were already rushing forward. They need not have bothered.

Urthfist instinctively twisted toward his unseen attacker. That movement locked Machus's blade tightly in place between two plates of armor whose edges jammed together; Machus pulled at his sword but could not dislodge it. In the same motion, Urthfist swung his broadsword in the fox's direction. Machus was left with no weapon to defend himself as the badger's blade sliced through his neck, neatly beheading the swordfox chieftain.

Roaring, Urthfist turned back to face his brother, swinging blindly as he did. Urthblood anticipated him perfectly. Waiting for the errant blade to slash harmlessly past him, Urthblood leaned in close before Urthfist could recover from the momentum of that wild swing, and drove his own blade between Urthfist's open jaws. The swordtip came out the back of his skull.

The charging hares skidded to a sudden stop. Other troops of Urthblood's who'd started forward in response did the same. For the space of many rapid heartbeats, the tableau held as if it were a diorama made of stone statues: Urthblood holding his blade through Urthfist's brain with his macabre double-pawed grasp; the decapitated swordfox lying at the side of the slain but still standing Badger Lord; the crushed hare lying behind Urthblood; and the stunned troops of both sides staring wordlessly at this final result of the bloodiest hour ever to unfold upon the slopes of Salamandastron.

Then, finally, Urthfist's sightless eyes clouded over with the glaze of death. Urthblood withdrew his sword, steel clattering against teeth in the now-slack jaw, and Urthfist toppled backward, crashing loudly to the stony ground.

The spell was broken. No shouts of victory went up from Urthblood's forces; they were as drained and battle-weary as their opponents, and stood at the ready in case the Long Patrol decided to continue the fight even without their master. But that was not to happen. The hares, many with eyes brimming full of unshed tears of grief, slowly stepped forward to stand over their fallen Lord.

The fox Andrus came forward and helped Urthblood staunch the flow of blood from his wound until it could be more properly treated. As the healer ministered to him, Urthblood looked to the hares. "Traveller," he said.

The seasoned scout glanced up in surprise. "You ... remember me?"

"Of course. You must give me your surrender, old friend. If you fight on, you will all be slain. I would not see that happen."

"Our surrender?" Traveller sadly shook his head as he regarded the fallen figure of Urthfist. "The Long Patrol's never surrendered to an enemy before."

"But I am not just any enemy," Urthblood said. "I am the Lord of the Mountain ... the only one, now. If you and your companions pledge me your loyalty, as you did once before many seasons ago, that will also be acceptable. Surrender, or allegiance. The choice is yours."

"An' if neither o' those strikes our fancy?" Traveller challenged.

"What would you do? Keep on fighting?"

Traveller surveyed the scene around him. Fewer than a score of hares were to be seen. Surely this couldn't be all that was left of the eighty-one who'd started this battle? But if there were anymore on other parts of the slope, he couldn't see them. Traveller called out, "Where's Cap'n Polifly?"

"He's dead, sir," one of the other hares answered, motioning to the headless corpse of Machus. "That fox got 'im."

"Oh, salt! Wot about Cap'n Taywood?"

"He's gone, too," another sniffed in reply. "Urthblood 'imself saw to that."

Traveller gritted his teeth. "Guess that makes me head hare here, wot?" He looked Urthblood in the eye. "Unless perchance you've still got Colonel Clewiston locked up in that mountain somewhere ... "

"No, I do not," Urthblood replied.

Traveller sighed. "Didn't figger any of th' Colonel's company would give up without fightin' to the very last. Guess you slaughtered th' lot of 'em, wot?"

"I entered Salamandastron without loss of life," Urthblood informed Traveller, "and I offered Colonel Clewiston the same chance to swear me loyalty that I offer you now. He refused, and went so far as to escape from the room where he was being held. Seeing this, I allowed them to leave. At last report, he and his company were seen fleeing over the high mountain pass for Redwall, hoping to reunite with my brother and all of you. They should be at the Abbey by now."

Traveller stared up at the badger warrior with wide eyes of amazement. "You mean, they're all still alive?"

Urthblood nodded. "No creature had lost its life in this affair until my brother charged into my front lines and started killing my troops."

This was too much for Traveller. The old scout sank down to his haunches, face buried in his paws, and wept. Many of the other hares now let their tears flow freely at last. Urthblood merely stood and watched, saying nothing.

A call came to them from higher up the mountainside, growing louder. "Redwall! Redwalllll!"

All the hares glanced up to see Winokur racing down toward the scene of this battle's final confrontation. Traveller arose, wiping his eyes clear. He'd never seen an otter in a habit before, and drew the obvious conclusion. "You must be that mediator fellow the Abbess told us 'bout."

"That I am," Winokur confirmed, stepping well around the carnage of Urthfist and Machus, brow furrowed in distaste. "I came here to stop a war, and I failed miserably. My own father lies slain up in the tunnel. But the battle's over now, and I see beasts from both sides still standing. My job now is to make sure not one more creature loses its life this day." He turned to Urthblood. "What say you, My Lord?"

"I have told these hares they must either give me their surrender, or else swear me their fealty. As long as they do one or the other, no more of them will die."

Winokur looked to Traveller, but the old runner shook his head. "We'll agree to a truce. No more fightin'. But we won't surrender, an' we sure as fur ain't gonna give this butcherer our allegiance. That's th' best I can do."

Winokur turned back to the badger. "My Lord, I have heard this hare offer you an honest truce. I strongly urge you to accept it ... if friendship with Redwall truly means anything to you at all. In the name of the Abbey, I forbid you to harm any more of these fine beasts, as long as they offer you no further opposition."

Urthblood considered this alternative. "As long as they lay down their arms, I will honor any truce they care to make," he said at last. "They will not be harmed. But if they enter Salamandastron without first giving me their oath of fealty, they will be placed under guard and considered prisoners of war. This I must insist upon."

"Well?" Winokur prompted of Traveller. The hare gazed up at his home, knowing that agreement meant exile. But at least they would have their lives. He owed that to Clewiston, who at this very moment was chasing across the lands after a battle that was already over. Now that Urthfist was dead, Traveller had to keep any more of them from dying, if he possibly could.

He locked gazes with Urthblood. "How do we know we can trust you?"

"That's what I'm here for," Winokur assured the senior hare, "to keep everybeast honest. And I'm not the only Redwaller here. If you both agree to these terms, we'll be looking over everybeast's shoulder. You can count on that!"

Traveller regarded Winokur anew. This otter presented himself with an authority that belied his obvious youth. There was no doubt that he spoke with the authority of Redwall behind him.

"Okay," he nodded, sticking his spear into a crack in the rocks. "A truce it is."

"Then shake paws!" Winokur ordered. Without hesitating, Urthblood extended his left paw, the only one he still had. Traveller did hesitate at exchanging such pleasantries with the beast who had been their mortal enemy until a few moments ago. But, after a moment, he too stuck out his left paw. It was almost lost in the immensity of the badger's massive grip. He felt like an infant shaking paws with an adult.

"It's done, then!" Winokur proclaimed. "We have a truce. No more killing!"

Urthblood withdrew his paw. "There has been too much of that already," he agreed.

Traveller knelt down alongside Urthfist. How was he supposed to grieve, out here in the open, with so many enemies looking on? He'd expected death or victory, but never a defeat like this.

"Today I have killed my brother," Urthblood intoned. "If there has ever been a more evil day in the history of Salamandastron, I cannot think what it would have been."

Traveller glanced up at Urthblood, surprised to hear such a statement from the enemy badger. "If ye're really that broken up over wot's happened, you'll see that Lord Urthfist gets th' decent 'n' honorable burial he deserves."

"All in good time, Traveller," Urthblood said. "My brother is not the only slain beast out here. Captain Mattoon!"

The weasel captain stepped forward from his group. "Yes, M'Lord?"

"Go into Salamandastron with all haste, and fetch Foremole's Tunnel and Trencher Corps. There are many graves to be dug."

Mattoon saluted and ran upslope toward the tunnel entrance.

Urthblood turned then to Andrus. The swordfox had finished binding the temporary bandage over the badger's bleeding wrist stump. "Andrus, gather all your fellow foxes and search through the casualties for injured beasts lying amongst the slain. Now that this battle is over, let us see if we might be able to save some lives."

00000000000

As the sun sank into the sea, the layered tiers of high cloud had their underbellies lit with a crimson glow as if in memorial to the bloody day just ended.

On the sandy coastal plain that bordered the northern foot of Salamandastron, an otter crew of four approached the limply sprawled and battered form of Captain Halpryn. A long javelin protruded from her breast, and she appeared quite dead. The otters had come to retrieve the kite's body so Halpryn could be given a proper officer's burial.

As they drew near, the large bird gave a sudden jerk, and a strangled murmur seemed to come from it. The otters started.

"By me rudder!" the crew leader, Tulia, exclaimed. "This featherbag ain't dead!"

Another otter, Tallbank, cautiously crept forward and placed a paw upon Halpryn's twisted neck. Kites could be of a vicious temperament, and if Halpryn was bady injured, she could lash out dangerously at friend and foe alike. But she did not stir again, and her open eye was misty and sightless. Tallbank glanced back at Tulia. "Must've been a reflex, that spasm. There's no life left in this bird."

As if to refute his pronouncement, Halpryn's splayed bulk gave another abrupt shift. Once again, a muffled voice seemed to emanate from the kite, although her beak did not move.

Tulia's wide brown eyes suddenly lit with understanding. "Blimy, I think there's somebeast under her! All t'gether, mateys, an' let's roll this dead weight off it - but gently!"

Working together, the otter quartet carefully shifted Halpryn's lifeless and yielding body over onto its back. Revealed on the packed sand underneath, still partly covered by one disjointed wing, was one rather startled hare. The disheveled creature sat staring up at them, one eye normal and the other red and puffy, its left paw hanging loosely at a painful angle. Its breathing seemed labored, coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Not ... the bally ... rescue party ... I expected," the hare wheezed.

"Well, whaddya know?" Tulia said to the other otters. "This bobtail must've been standin' right under Halpryn when she fell outta th' sky! Now, what're the chances o' that, I ask yers?"

The hare shook his head, with some effort. "Got it ... backwards, friend. I'm th' one ... who landed on her. Saved my life ... cushioned my bally fall ... tho', she is a bit bony in places." His good paw pointed to his injured one, then to his ribs, then finally to his inflamed eye. "Not much good fer fightin' just at th' moment, so if you waterdogs came all th' way down fer a tussle ... 'fraid I'm gonna hafta disappoint'cha."

"Not lookin' fer any more scrappin' t'day," Tulia told the hare. "The battle's over."

The injured beast stared up at Tulia in disbelief. "Over?"

Tulia nodded solemnly. "Sorry t' be th' one t' tell you, but yer Lord's dead. Urthblood slew him."

A shadow of grief crossed the hare's face, but that emotion quickly gave way to anger. "Ye're lyin'!" he accused.

Tulia scowled. "Don't call me a fibber, flopears, an' use yer noggin. If th' battle was still goin' on, we'd still be up guardin' the entrances, not down here gabbin' with you. Remember, we didn't even know you were out here. We came fer Cap'n Halpryn. Now I ask ye, if yer Lord had won th' battle, do you really think we'd be goin' 'round collectin' our dead?"

"Runnin' fer th' hills would be more like it!" Tallbank snorted.

The hare's expression fell into one of despair as he realized the otters were telling him the truth. He collapsed onto his back. "Then lay that bally bird back on top o' me, an' leave me here to die."

"We ain't leavin' one o' our captains out here fer th' dratted seagulls t' pick over ... an' we ain't leavin' you here, neither."

"Ain't gonna be no prisoner," the hare said stubbornly.

"Then you'll be our patient," Tulia insisted. "There's a truce on, 'tween us an' you hares who've survived. Still gettin' th' details all hammered out. Right now, it's gonna be all we can do t' get the dead buried in good fashion, an' take proper care o' the wounded. You need a healer's help ... an' ye're gonna get it, like it or not!"

The hare sighed and closed his eyes.

Tulia said, "Tallbank, go back inside an' fetch us a litter, or what we'll need t' make one. This fella has cracked ribs, an' mebbe worse. Can't risk movin' him any other way. Gotta have a stretcher." Looking at the stricken hare, she added, "If this beast really did survive a fall outta th' sky, that's a miracle in my book, an' we shore ain't gonna let a miracle go by th' wayside!"


	12. Chapter 74

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Seventy-Four

The burial duties lasted well into the night. Dozens of lanterns and torches were lit on the slopes to help with the task of sorting out and identifying the dead. Urthblood decreed that the graves be located on the coastal plain to the eastern, landward side of Salamandastron, where ocean waves and sea breezes would not disturb them even during the fiercest storms. The sheer number of bodies was overwhelming, and the moles, natural diggers that they were, still required all the help they could get. Most of Saybrook's surviving otters chipped in, loosening the sandy soil with their javelins and then using their broad tails to push it up onto the sides of the pits. Exhausted rats and weasels, still too numbed by the horror of the battle to fully appreciate how lucky they were to be alive, did their part using swords, axes and shields as makeshift shovels. Meanwhile the smaller creatures - mice, hedgehogs and the very few remaining shrews - toiled without break on the south slopes, stacking or laying together the slain according to species, so Foremole would have a rough idea of how big to make each pit.

As much as Urthblood and his captains would have preferred to honor each of their slain fighters with individual graves, it simply wasn't possible, not with this many dead. The best that could be done was to bury each one together with the others of its kind. So, the moles and their helpers dug nine giant, oblong pits, side by side from north to south, one each for otters, shrews, mice, hedgehogs, foxes, weasels, stoats, ferrets and rats. This last was by far the largest of the common graves, for nearly a hundred rats had lost their lives buring the battle. The ferret and stoat divisions had been almost completely obliterated, but they would each have a pit of their own. The shrews likewise had sacrificed nearly their entire brigade, but owing to their small size their grave did not need to be especially large.

At the heads of the shrew and ferret graves were dug two smaller trenches for Bremo and Perrett. A pair more were unearthed adjacent the enormous rat pit for Lorsch and Cermak. Urthblood's slain captains, at least, would have individual graves - a privilege of their rank.

No single grave was dug for Machus alongside the fox grave. Urthblood gave orders that the swordfox chieftain, who had quite possibly saved his badger master's life, was to be buried where he'd fallen, to commemorate his selfless deed which had cost him his life.

While Urthblood's troops labored thus, the Long Patrol collected their own dead. Since the lower slopes were pretty well covered with the countless slain vermin, the threescore hare corpses were carried up and laid out neatly where the Patrols of Major Safford's flank had confronted the shrews and otters, and where that commanding officer had fallen. What was to be done with them now was still an open question.

Urthblood stood in the flickering shadows of the guttering torches all about him, supervising the identification of his lost soldiers. Traveller approached him wearily, footpaws nearly dragging along the ground with each reluctant step.

"Wot about our fallen lads 'n' lasses?" he asked the badger.

"I have already told you," Urthblood said to him, "I would be most willing to have my moles dig an extra burial pit for the Long Patrols. They have not done so yet because they are waiting to hear your wishes."

"Don't want any friends o' mine put to their eternal rest alongside foxes an' vermin."

"Then they can be buried elsewhere. Down there, at the southern foot of Salamandastron. Or around on the north side, if you prefer."

"Don't want any mass grave, neither," Traveller went on. "Each 'n' every one o' those hares deserves its own plot, an' marker."

"What these fallen fighters deserve and what we can give them are two different things," Urthblood stated. "I cannot spare the beastpower for digging separate graves, for your hares or for my own soldiers. As a token of respect, I have offered to take care of your slain comrades as I am tending to mine. If you wish your hares to have individual plots and markers, you will have to provide them yourselves."

"Ha. That's a good one. Mebbe by next season we'll be rested up 'nuff fer that."

"I know you must be weary beyond words. I did ask whether you wanted help in gathering your dead, but you refused."

"Like I said," Traveller snapped, "they're hares. We'll take care of our own. By all rights, they oughta be entombed inside th' mountain, where hares o' their merit belong."

"That I will not permit. They fought against the rightful Lord of the Mountain. They will not be laid to rest anywhere within or upon Salamandastron."

"That go fer Lord Urthfist too?" Traveller glanced a short way down the slope to where his fallen master lay. No paw had yet disturbed the Badger Lord; Urthfist's body reposed just as when the warrior had first been struck down.

"I may make an exception in his case," Urthblood replied. "Urthfist was my brother, and a Lord of this mountain. He performed his duties of safeguarding the coastlands admirably during the twenty seasons I was occupied elsewhere. It was not fair for me to leave him as abruptly as I did. Had I not been troubled so greatly by the prophecy fate thrust upon me, I might have tarried for some while to explain to Urthfist what it was I intended, and then he might not have made this horrible misjudgement about me. But no, I was not even clear in my own mind what that prophecy would require of me - how was I to explain it to any other creature? Perhaps it was cruel fate that he misinterpret the words I left behind ... perhaps he was meant, by some grander design than I can fathom, to spiral down into the madness born of his unwarranted hatred of me, and that one of us was bound to slay the other according to some plan set down when the world was young and Salamandastron still ran with rivers of molten rock. If so, then he and I are both victims of forces beyond our control. I cannot blame him for being misguided, if that was the part assigned him by fate. He was a Badger Lord, the same as I. His final resting place will be one befitting his nobility and honor, not his final seasons of madness."

Urthblood's assessment of Urthfist rankled in Traveller's tired ears. But at the same time, the old hare was moved by the enemy badger's impassioned tone of reconcilliation toward his slain brother. For the first time in twenty seasons, Traveller caught a glimpse of Urthblood as something other than the evil creature he'd grown to be in the minds of the Long Patrol. He was struck with a fleeting impression of the world shifting around him even as he stood there, of reality slipping out from under his footpaws to be replaced by something else. In that brief flash Traveller could see Urthblood as an unwitting player in the forces that swept and swirled unseen around them, no more in control of these powers than anybeast. Was this what it was like for Urthblood all the time, attuned to the flow of destiny invisible to all other creatures? Had this badger intentionally shared this vision with him? Traveller shook his head in tired confusion. If this were some kind of trick, then Urthblood possessed powers of the mind that were unguessed at. But if it was no piece of mental deception, then Traveller could well believe that there was far more going on here than a feud between Badger Lords. Forces of destiny were at play here, mocking as insignificant the lives and brave deeds of the creatures on this mountain. Urthblood was surely aware of this. Be he good or evil, truthful or a liar, Urthblood was a beast of destiny, and he knew it. Such a creature would be a majestic and terrible thing. Such a creature could not be stopped, until fate decreed that he be stopped. All other oppostition would be doomed to failure.

Or, perhaps Traveller's fatigued mind was simply playing tricks on him. He was past the point of collapse - all the surviving Long Patrols were, and most were injured as well - but still they'd pushed themselves, for the sake of looking after their slain brethren and making sure no hare corpses were treated disrespectfully.

But now there was no more left in them, and Traveller could not pretend otherwise. Their dead would have to be buried by Urthblood's moles, otherwise they would not be buried at all.

"If only the Colonel were here," Traveller lamented, "he'd know wot to do. He's th' true leader of the Patrols. Something tells me he wouldn't settle fer th' indignity of a mass grave."

"Even Colonel Clewiston would have to face the hard reality of the situation. But he is not here, and may not return for a number of days. This decision must be yours, Traveller."

The old hare finally nodded his consent. "All right. Go ahead an' dig a grave fer all th' Patrols."

"Certainly. Where would you like it?"

00000000000

In the end, the surviving Long Patrols gave themselves into Urthblood's custody after all. It was just simpler that way. A number of them were seriously injured and needed to be in the infirmary where they could be properly treated by the healer swordfoxes. Most of the rest bore lesser wounds, but at this point their cause would not be helped by sitting in exile out on the sand. Urthblood could very easily have had them all slain before now, and after his strange experience with the badger, Traveller was convinced he would honor his word to do them no harm. Winokur and Alexander would be watching too, and the presence of the Redwallers would discourage treachery by Urthblood or reprisals from any of his troops. Traveller was the only leader the remaining hares had, and they were all looking to him for guidance. So, when he advised that they all go into Salamandastron together, even though that meant surrendering their weapons and being confined under guard, they did not question his judgment.

The common grave for the Long Patrols was dug just south of the mountain, where the hare army had momentarily halted before Urthfist's mad charge had started the battle. Traveller could think of no better place to lay his fellows to their final rest; it was as good a spot as any, and far enough around the mountain to stand well apart from the graves of their enemies. In tribute to Major Safford, who had performed such a valiant job of commanding the Patrols after Urthfist had been lost to the Bloodwrath, Traveller followed Urthblood's example and had the moles dig a separate grave for the Major at the south head of the main burial pit. They took another cue from the Badger Lord as well, for Urthblood was having the names of all his slain soldiers recorded as they were lowered into the graves, and Traveller wished to do the same for his hares. Few of the Long Patrols were literate, schooled in the arts of war and foraging rather than in letters, so Winokur came out with stylus and scroll to write down the names that were called out as each hare was laid down in the pit. By the time all sixty-one were in place and their names duly recorded, Winokur's eyes were watery, and not just from the strain of trying to write clearly in the dimly flickering torchlight. Some of the hares wept more openly as the toll of this ill-fated battle was driven home to them as never before, but they held their dignified fronts and refused to break down completely. They were too drained, both physically and emotionally. They would grieve more fully after they were rested.

And rest they would. Overseeing the covering of the Long Patrol burial pit to make sure the moles carried out the task with the proper respect and thoroughness, the tired hares then marched up and into Salamandastron, leaving their weapons behind. Urthblood and a dozen of Saybrook's otters took a break from their own burial chores to escort them. A fox looked them over one by one in the dining hall, singled out the three who were most in need of healing, and took them to the infirmary. The rest were led up to the same large dormitory room where Colonel Clewiston's platoon had been confined, given food and water (although none had much appetite), and then locked inside with a guard posted in the corridor beyond. It was by this time only a few hours before dawn, and the hares had not slept fully for days. All the sheets and blankets that Clewiston had used for his escape had been untied and returned to the beds, but the exhausted hares could have fallen asleep on wood planks or the stone floor. They had pushed themselves past the point of collapse by several measures. Now, at last, they could sleep.

"Get yer rest, hares," Traveller encouraged even as his companions closed their eyes and drifted off around him. "We need sleep now more'n we need anything else. This day's past, an' there's naught we can do about it now. Sleep well, an' let's let tomorrow take care of itself."

00000000000

Alexander sat with Mina all that night in the infirmary.

The moles had done a good job bandaging her head, before they were called out to start their all-night gravedigging tasks. Mina fought to stay awake, wanting to hear all the details about how the battle had ended, but she'd drifted off even before the foxes started bringing in the first of the wounded, knowing only that Urthblood had slain Urthfist, and that was all.

She came awake in the predawn hours to find Alex still sitting attentively at her bedside. The large chamber was lit with numerous lamps and lanterns, set at the heads and feet of various beds. There were more beds in here now than when she'd fallen asleep, and every one was occupied. Two of the foxes moved quietly from bed to bed, checking on their patients. Those swordsbeasts had lain aside their weapons to assume the mantle of their other calling, as healers. Their eyelids drooped, their steps dragged, and their black uniforms were stained with the blood both of enemies they'd slain and patients they'd tended. But onward they toiled, not content to rest themselves while so many lay stricken and suffering around them.

Alex smiled down at her. "Wouldn't you know it?" he said softly. "You sleep like a babe through all the ruckus of the injured and the extra beds being brought in, but you wake up as soon as things settle down! How are you feeling?"

"Bit of a headache - no, make that a sore head. It's only the outside that hurts. And itches. I think Foremole may've made this wrapping too tight." The squirrel Lady sat up on her pillow and looked around her more carefully. "Guess I can't complain. Most of these poor souls look to be in much worse shape than I am. I must've really been dead to the world, not to've stirred while all this was going on."

"You slept for hours," Alex told her. "Like an angel."

"And, you were here the entire time?" Mina guessed.

"Of course. And it just so happened that this was about the best place to be for finding out everything that's going on outside, since the wounded are being brought in from every part of the battlefield. A lot are unconscious or too pained to talk, but that still leaves plenty to share the news."

Mina's eyes widened with interest. "Tell me what you've heard, Alex."

His smile faded. "Well, Lord Urthblood lost a paw ... "

"Yes, I know. His right, wasn't it? I heard that just before I went out."

"I believe so. He was only down here for a few moments, having his wound tended, before he was away again. That beast's downright unstoppable." Alexander's frown deepened. "There's worse, I'm afraid. Machus ... "

A spasm of grief twisted Mina's face. "Machus was slain?"

Alex nodded sadly. "He came to Urthblood's aid ... probably saved his life, and decided the outcome of the whole battle."

Mina sank back into her pillow. "O dark day! This surely is the costliest battle Lord Urthblood has ever fought. I think he would gladly have given up his sword paw rather than lose Machus. To have lost both on the same day ... there will be widespread mourning in the Northlands when this evil news reaches our home."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you."

Blinking back her tears of grief, Mina clutched Alexander's paw tightly. "Don't you dare keep anything from me, Alex. If not for this bump on my head, I'd be out there myself sorting out the dead from the injured. Now, tell me anything else I should know."

"Well, I didn't know most of the other captains that well," Alex said, "but, let's see ... the shrew captain's dead, along with most of his squad. Both the rat captains were slain, as well as one of the other vermin commanders ... stoat, I think, or maybe ferret."

Mina's gaze roved the room. "That's Captain Bandon of the stoats down there ... looks like he lost his left footpaw. Must have been Perrett, or maybe Mattoon."

"Not Mattoon. He's been through here since the battle ended. I remember now. Only three stoats survived the battle, and Bandon was one of them. He got buried under a couple of other slain beasts right after his foot was cut off ... that's the only reason Urthfist missed him. He was very lucky the foxes found him before he bled to death. Perrett was the one who was slain. Perrett the ferret." Alex recalled how that name had struck all the Redwallers as amusing when they'd first heard it. There was nothing funny about it now.

Alex continued, "One of the other stoats who survived was that one who was chained to the mouse."

"Oh, Broggen. Yes, he would've been up with Jans in the mouse lines. He would have been pretty safe there."

"Not safe enough. Some hares got through and slew his mouse partner. Broggen spent the rest of the battle chained to a deadbeast. Urthblood had to use a battle axe to cut them apart after the truce was declared."

"Oh, how awful! Poor Jans ... and poor Broggen. That beast was very fond of his mouse companion. They'd been together for so many seasons, we'd all come to assume that if they ever fell in battle, they'd fall together. It never occurred to me that one might be slain but the other not. This day was sure full of tragic surprises."

"That's certainly true," Alex agreed somberly. "There will be mourning at Redwall as well as in the north. Even if Warnokur didn't live at the Abbey most of the time, we still thought of him as one of us."

"Well, at least it's not as bad as it could have been. Winokur would have been slain too, if you hadn't shot that hare who was about to spear his skull."

This comment caused the hare in the next bed to sit up painfully, in spite of his slung paw and taped ribs. "Whoa a sec, ma'am. Did you just say this Redwaller here's th' one who shot Major Safford?"

"I don't know what hare it was I shot," said Alex. "All I know is, he was about to kill a fellow Redwaller, and a beast who was sworn to peace. If I had it to do all over again, I'd still let that shaft fly in order to save Winokur."

The wounded hare sank back down with a pained wheeze of a sigh. "Major Safford, slain by a bloomin' Redwaller! You said a bally mouthful, ma'am - tragic surprises indeed!"

Mina turned from the piteous hare. "How did the Long Patrol fare?"

"About a score survived, from what I've heard," Alex answered.

"A score? That's still a respectable fighting force, for creatures of their combat skill."

"Maybe so, ordinarily. But that score includes the injured ones who are in here. Even the ones who aren't so badly wounded are totally exhausted. And with Urthfist dead, they don't really have anything left to fight for, do they?"

"I suppose. But, getting back to our own troops, what kind of losses are we looking at, overall?"

"Oh, I couldn't tell you exactly, Mina. Some mice, some hedgehogs, some otters ... half the foxes, give or take ... but the shrews and vermin were the worst off. I heard somebeast say that not even a single ferret may have made it through the battle alive. Don't know whether that's true. The rats suffered heavily too, but there were a lot more of them to begin with."

Mina shook her head in disbelief. "I was going to say that I was surprised there weren't more wounded down here, but I understand now. Urthfist was out to slaughter, not win a battle or take prisoners. Anybeast who came under his blade met its end. Easy to see how not many creatures were left alive in his wake."

"Exactly," Alex nodded. "He attacked like a madbeast, and massacred the front ranks like it was the only thing that mattered to him. Perhaps Urthfist really was insane."

"Hey!" the hare next to her cried out indignantly. "Have some respect fer th' dead there!"

Mina scowled at the hare. "I give my respect to the creatures who earn it. As for Urthfist, how else would you explain his behavior?"

"He couldn't help 'imself. It was those weapons wot set him off."

"Weapons?" Alex and Mina both stared at him blankly. "What are you talking about?"

"Th' ones all them rats 'n stoats 'n' ferrets was bearin' ... th' ones that were badger-made. Don'tcha get it? The beasts Lord Urthfist went after was th' ones who were holdin' them treasures. Hadn't y' figgered that out fer yerselves by now?"

"I ... he's right, Alex. Urthfist didn't fight his way up the mountain, which would have been the logical thing for him to do. He stayed down near the base of the mountain, laying into the forward lines after he could have been well past them. He even went sideways and backward to pursue them. We had a better view of it from the plateau than anybeast. Why didn't we realize that's what was happening?"

"Because we just assumed Urthfist was mad," Alex said slowly. "But if this is true ... then the very arms Urthblood gave his front lines to protect them were what doomed them!"

The hare raised his head partway and cocked a knowing ear at the two squirrels. "Now, why didn't Urthblood, with all his high-falutin' prophetic vision, realize that's wot would happen?"

"Yes," Alex echoed. "Why didn't he know?"

Mina said nothing.


	13. Chapter 75

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Seventy-Five

Urthblood let the captive hares in the dormitory sleep past the noontide of the following day. The exhausted Long Patrols surrendered totally to slumber, unstirred by the bright sunlight streaming in through the high window or the occasional bustle of activity coming through their locked door from the corridor beyond. For the most part they did not even dream; their sleep-deprived brains simply shut off, resting along with their owners. Which was just as well for the hares, since any dreams they would have had after the battle would almost surely have been nightmares of the very worst kind.

In the early afternoon, they were finally stirred to a reluctant wakefulness by the sound of their cell door being opened. Eyes squinted open and heads lifted, but no hare actually rose from its bed as Urthblood strode into the room. The Badger Lord looked them over casually, then his gaze locked on Traveller.

"I will shortly be laying my brother to rest," Urthblood announced. "I thought you would like to be there, Traveller."

The old scout hare forced his protesting and battered body up to a sitting position, swinging his footpaws over onto the floor. "Reckon we'd all wanna be there," he said, as others began to arise as well. Urthblood stopped them with a raised left paw.

"No. Urthfist is to be placed in a part of Salamandastron where only Badger Lords may normally go. One of you may be present, and no more."

"Just one o' us, eh?" Traveller rubbed at his eyes. "Guess that'd be me, then, but it's hardly fair, wot? He was our Lord, after all. S'pose there'll be mobs o' yer vermin sorts there."

"I am only taking as many as will ne needed to bear my brother, and no more," Urthblood replied.

Traveller noticed then that Urthblood's right wrist stump was encased in a heavy iron fitted endcap, less than a day after the loss of that paw. Urthblood must have spent a good deal of the morning fashioning it in the forge rooms ... unless it had been made prior to the battle. Surely his powers of prophetic vision could not be that precise. Could they? In any event, while the heavy stump casing might allow him to use that maimed limb as a formidable battering-type of weapon, it would be of no use at all for lifting and carrying heavy burdens.

Traveller shrugged. "Let's get to it, then."

The dormitory room door was closed and locked by the otter guards once more as Traveller accompanied the enemy badger down the tunnel. He wasn't sure who was luckier: himself, for being given the honor of attending this ceremony, or the others left behind, who would be able to stay in bed.

They went down to the main dining hall. There, Traveller discovered Lord Urthfist's body laid face-up on one of the smaller side tables. All of his armor had been fastened neatly back in place, and his eyes and mouth were closed. The deceased warrior looked almost peaceful. It was hard to believe, looking at him now, that Urthfist's final minutes of life had been spent in the berserk rage of the Bloodwrath. With the horrible exit wound in the back of his skull hidden by his positioning, Urthfist showed no sign of bodily damage beyond a few scrapes and scratches, which had been painstakingly cleaned and combed over. He might almost have been asleep, had Traveller not known better.

Captains Saybrook and Mattoon stood solemnly by, as did Winokur, Alexander and Lady Mina. The Gawtrybe squirrel Lady still wore her head bandages, and the Redwall otter was still dressed in Abbess Mhera's bloodstained habit. Others of Urthblood's army were present, but they stayed well back, as if afraid that the slain badger might return to life at any moment and recommence his manic slaughter of them.

"I have shown the others the way," Urthblood told Traveller, "I will take the back end. The rest of you take the front and sides."

It turned out that the tabletop had been loosened, and sat unfastened upon the trestles beneath. The platform was of a perfect size to bear Urthfist away to his final resting place. Winokur, Saybrook, Mattoon, Alex and Traveller each took a spot around the edge of the tabletop and lifted, while Urthblood alone bore the end at his brother's feet. Even with a paw missing, the badger had little trouble supporting his end of the makeshift litter, much to Traveller's surprise. Between the six of them they were easily able to carry Urthfist across the dining hall and up the stairs leading to the higher levels. Lady Mina followed behind, but did not help with the task. She was to be the Gawtrybe's official representative at this solemn ceremony, just as Winokur and Alexander would represent Redwall, and Traveller the Long Patrol.

After a second flight of stairs and much twisting and turning along slighty inclined passageways, Traveller found himself bearing his fallen master down a corridor where he and his fellow hares had seldom ventured. He knew where they were headed: to the throne room of the Badger Lords of the mountain, where indeed no other creatures were allowed to tread, except by special leave of the mighty and mysterious beasts who ruled here.

Up ahead, Traveller could see a boulderlike door standing open, and the dim flickering of lantern light from the chamber beyond. Traveller had only ever been here a few times in his life, and never had he set foot within the secret room. A chill went up and down his spine, but his tiring paws did not relinquish their grip of the platform edge. Soon, Lord Urthfist would be put to his permanent rest, and then Traveller would be able to rest too.

They passed the threshold, and entered a large rounded chamber of bare rock walls. It was a spartan place, yet an aura of mystery and ancient wisdom hung heavily upon the musty air. Intricate carvings filled almost the entire wall to either side, while straight ahead at the rear of the chamber sat a massive badger's throne carved, it seemed, from the very rock of the mountain itself. The seat was quite simple in design, but dominated the room with a certain severe majesty. It was before this throne that Urthblood ordered his brother set down.

While the others stood back, Urthblood lifted Urthfist and seated the slain warrior and former Lord of Salamandastron upon the vacant throne. Urthblood carefully positioned his brother's paws upon the arms of the throne, then tilted Urthfist's head back so it would not be drooping, chin upon breastplate. Remarkably, Urthfist held the posture even after Urthblood stepped away. The dead badger seemed almost to be sitting in judgment, or in quiet contemplation with eyes closed. He did not look at all like a corpse.

"For many generations of an earlier age," Urthblood intoned, "the remains of Lord Brocktree sat upon this throne, as a silent guardian and symbol of all that Salamandastron stood for. Whatever happened to Brocktree or where he rests today is not recorded in these histories and prophecies carved around us. But now Salamandastron will have a new eternal guardian, or at least one who will preside here for many generations to come. In this way, my brother, may you outlast me."

A respectful silence settled over the assembled creatures. Nobeast dared disturb that solemn hush, as each ruminated upon the outcome of this conflict and all that it had cost them. Traveller said an inward prayer for his departed Lord, grateful for the presence of other creatures who seemed as moved by these events as he was. For that brief time he did not even mind that a weasel stood among those sharing this experience with him here in this sacred place.

Urthblood turned, breaking their mutual reverie. "Saybrook, Mattoon, please remove this tabletop - take it back down to the dining hall. I will be along shortly."

Otter and weasel obeyed swiftly, lifting the platform between them and hastening out of the chamber and down the passage with it. Their master's tone had made it plain that he wished to be alone. Alex, Mina, Winokur and Traveller stood by, waiting to see what Urthblood would have of them.

The badger walked slowly over to one part of the wall near the doorway, intent upon the chiselled hieroglyphs there. Absently he raised his right stump as if to caress the engravings; then, remembering that he no longer had that paw, Urthblood lowered it and lifted his left, tracing his clawtips lightly over the carven words and images.

Winokur hesitantly stepped over to his side. "Um, your prophecy, My Lord?"

Urthblood nodded. "And nowhere in its accursed verses does it reveal that I would have to slay my own brother." He continued to stare at what he had carved twenty seasons in the past. "I cannot help but wonder what other ills and evil deeds may lie hidden in these runes?"

The Redwall otter gazed up at the prophecy himself for some moments. The writing, in the ancient High Badger Script, was gibberish to him, a nonsensical clutter of lines and curlicues. But interspersed within the text were pictures - simple diagrams of beasts, objects and buildings. And one in particular ...

"Hey!" Winokur pointed. "That's the Abbey in there with all that other stuff!"

"Yes," said Urthblood, "the coming crisis will encompass all the lands, and Redwall, just as I have said. Why do you think I came to your home to give you warning? The ties between Salamandastron and Redwall must be strengthened. Our fates are intertwined now. We must stand together to face the challenges before us."

"Challenges? Crisis?" Winokur was flustered. "Surely, My Lord, that battle we went through yesterday was the crisis you've been talking about ... wasn't it?"

But Urthblood shook his head, still staring at his prophecy. "I do not think so. There is still a greater enemy that I must face. It may be Tratton, or it may be something else entirely. This is only the beginning."

These dire words cast a spell of gloom over the throne room. Traveller, standing back from the rest, was feeling something similar to what he'd experienced the previous night out on the mountainside, when Urthblood had spoken of fate and his prophecy - a sensation of greater forces shifting and swirling unseen about them all.

Then Alexander stepped forward abruptly. "Read it to us," he said to the badger, in a tone that was almost a command.

"It is not allowed," Urthblood responded.

"I don't care," Alex insisted. "Your prophecy involves Redwall. We're entitled to hear what it says about us."

Urthblood stood firm. "It was not meant for you to even set eyes upon these writings. You see for yourselves that Redwall is featured within the body of the prophecy. This must satisfy you. More I cannot say."

Alex realized further argument would be pointless. Arguing with Urthblood was like arguing with a boulder.

"If somebeast will please get the lamps," Urthblood said, "we'll pass through to the outer tunnel and leave my brother in peace."

Winokur, Alexander and Traveller grabbed a lantern apiece, and they all filed out of the throne room. Urthblood brought up the rear, and as the others moved clear he grappled with the door slab, successfully shifting it back into place in spite of his missing paw. It was a task only a fully grown badger could have attempted, and now that the secret door was returned to its deceptive position, blending with the tunnel walls so seamlessly that this truly did look like just an ordinary dead end corridor, it was highly doubtful that the one-pawed badger would ever be able to dislodge it again. Perhaps a full mole crew, working with a host of special devices, would be able to open it once more, but any other creatures would surely be doomed to frustration by the concealed doorway.

Traveller was most satisfied with the arrangement. Seating Urthfist upon the throne was a higher and more deserving honor than anything the decimated Long Patrols could have done for him. And the security of this location made it unlikely that his rest would be disturbed by any unwelcome intruders. But one thing nagged at the veteran scout's mind.

"Couldn't help but notice," he said to Urthblood as they walked together away from the sealed chamber, "that you didn't make any sorta carvin' or inscription fer Lord Urthfist. How'll future rulers o' this place know who he is, or wot he's doin' there?"

"They will know," Urthblood assured him. "My time here is far from done. It may not even be me, but one who comes after, who will finish this story. All that has happened here between us, and what is to come in the seasons ahead, will be added to the histories within that chamber in due time, I have no doubt of it. It will be known, because that is the way of things."

At the juncture where the tunnel divided, Urthblood bade Lady Mina and the two Redwallers to go about whatever business they cared to. "I am taking Traveller back to the rest of the Long Patrols in the dormitory. Now that the dead are all properly taken care of, all that remains is to wait for Colonel Clewiston to return. What happens next will be up to him."

00000000000

The Colonel's company arrived late that night.

The score of hares had run nonstop across the Western Plains, caught a few hours' sleep at the eastern base of the mountain range, then gotten a predawn start in their climb so that they could clear the perilous mountain pass in the light of a single day. Evening found them well down the western side of the range, with Salamandastron in plain sight ahead. The distance and the fading twilight made it impossible for even the sharp-eyed Long Patrols to tell whether there was any fighting going on around the fortress, or if there might be troops massed at the base of the fortress holding it under siege.

But as Clewiston and his companions descended the mountain pass in the dying daylight, it seemed to them that a terrible quiet hung over the coastlands. Not the tense calm of a siege, but something else. The Colonel hoped it was a stillness born of dread anticipation, meaning that Lord Urthfist had yet to arrive and the battle was still to come.

As the star-bedecked mantle of full night enshrouded the world around them, the hares had to decide whether to rest at the foot of the mountains until morning or press on to Salamandastron under cover of darkness. The concensus was unanimous: this close to home, they would not be able to sleep a wink without knowing the situation at the fortress. So, veiled by the cloak of night, they continued down the trail and onto terrain more familiar to them.

Their approach had not gone unnoticed. An hour after nightfall, when they were still some distance from their destination, they saw a small bonfire blaze to sudden life directly ahead of them. They could not clearly see what kind of beasts or how many of them sat around the fire, but no hare of the Patrols would be so foolish as to advertise itself in such a manner during a time of war. Suspicious, Clewiston halted the column while Melanie and her daughters crept stealthily forward to scout out the situation.

The trio returned quickly. "Colonel, sir, you'd better come," Melanie urged. "It's Sergeant Traughber. He wants t' speak with you, sir."

"Traughber?" Clewiston's voice held bewilderment. "Wot'd he say, Mel?"

"Wouldn't go into details, sir. But he's in pretty rough shape. Think we missed the bally main event." Melanie made no attempt to hide her disappointment. All throughout the column ears drooped, their owners crestfallen.

"Is it safe?" the Colonel asked. "Any sign o' other creatures about?"

"That Redwall otter's with 'im, sir. He seems okay, but by th' look of th' bloodstains on his habit, I'd say he was in th' thick of wotever happened here."

"Oh, sandrot! You may be right, Mel. Still, best not t' jump to any conclusions. We might as well all go together to hear wot th' Sergeant's got t' say."

They tramped onward. Gradually the flickering splotch of light resolved into a small campfire, its dancing flames casting a ruddy glow upon the two creatures seated by it. They rose as the Long Patrol drew to a halt opposite them.

Clewiston studied Sergeant Traughber forlornly in the dim light. The hare was not an encouraging sight. All he wore were the bandages wrapped tightly around his upper torso and the sling from which his left paw limply hung. One eye did not look quite right, and Traughber stood at an ungainly angle as if favoring one side. Clearly, he had seen action of some kind or another.

Clewiston nodded formally at him, ignoring Winokur for the moment. "Report, Sergeant," he said stiffly.

"It's over, sir," Traughber said, voice thick with emotion. "We lost. Lord Urthfist ... is dead."

Groans of disbelief and anguish went up from the company of hares, along with a few outright sobs. Clewiston spoke no words of reprimand to restore discipline in his ranks; he was too busy fighting down his own surge of grief that rose within him.

Winokur spoke for the first time. "I'm sorry you had to come home to this news. I was hoing myself that it would turn out differently. But, as the Sergeant here says, it's over. There's a truce in effect. The Long Patrols who survived have agreed to no more fighting. And I think you'd be well advised to honor that agreement as well."

"We'll decide wot's best for us, otter." Clewiston looked back at Traughber. "I assume you're out here t' meet us 'cos His Bloodiness saw us comin'?"

"Aye. He's got a bird fer a spy, y' know."

"More'n one," Clewiston nodded.

"Not anymore." An edge of defiant enthusiasm crept into Traughber's voice. "That's how I got most o' these bally decorations. I'll spin that yarn fer you someday, it's a good one. Just about the only good one to come outta this whole mess, I'm 'fraid."

They were still a good march from Salamandastron. Clewiston was shocked that Urthblood would force any creature in Traughber's condition to so exert itself. Shocked, but not especially surprised.

"Nerve o' that bloody beast! Makin' a wounded soul drag itself all th' way out here t' give us this fur-forsaken news! Rubbin' our faces in it, he is!"

"Actshully, sir, I agreed to do it," Traughber told his superior officer. "Urthblood wanted th' rankin' hare to meet you, an' that's me."

"Rankin' hare? Don't be silly. You're a sergeant ... " Clewiston's eyes widened in horror. "You can't be sayin' ... ?"

Traughber nodded solemnly, the underglow from the flames making his face a mournful visage. "They're all gone, sir. Major Safford, Captains Longmeadow, Polifly an' Taywood, all the Lieutenants ... don't even think there's any other sergeants. Which leaves me th' highest regular rankin' hare survivin'."

"How many of us are left?" Clewiston asked, not sure he really wanted to know.

"An even score. But Saticoy's got a real bad throat wound, an' Hanchett's all bashed up from Urthblood fallin' on him durin' th' battle. They might not make it. Traveller's back there too, but Urthblood's keepin' him close. Don't think he altogether trusts that old hare."

"Well, that's something, at least. Traveller's worth about any five o' th' rest of us. But still, to lose threescore hares at one blush ... "

"We gave a good account o' ourselves, you can be sure o' that," Traughber said. "But once those two badgers got goin' at each other, nothin' else really mattered. It all came down to them at the end."

"So, Urthblood slew Lord Urthfist himself?" Somehow, that was how Clewiston would have pictured it happening.

"Aye ... tho' it cost that big red brute his sword paw. Lord Urthfist might've won, if that fox hadn't jumped in."

"Fox?" Clewiston's stomach fell into his footpaws.

"Yeah. Wasn't there t' see it myself - I woulda been falling outta th' sky around that time - but other beasts told me all 'bout it later."

Clewiston's paws were clenched tightly at his side. "We passed a gang o' foxes comin' over th' mountains, on our way to Redwall. We let 'em pass so nobeast there would get killed. If we'd fought 'em instead, they never woulda gotten to Salamandastron ... an' Lord Urthfist might still be alive."

"An' he might not," Traughber countered. "Lotsa Urthblood's troops survived th' battle. We were badly outnumbered, right from th' start."

"I should have been here, Sergeant. It was my decision to go to Redwall an' try t' meet up with Lord Urthfist there. We didn't suppose he'd make it back t' Salamandastron so blinkin' fast. We should have stayed right here instead."

"Not gonna deny that we coulda used th' help, sir," Traughber said. "But, th' way that battle went, I really don't know if it would've made any difference."

Clewiston clenched his jaw stoically. "So, how do things stand now?"

"Urthblood's keepin' most of us under lock 'n' key. Feedin' us okay, fer wot it's worth, an' treatin' our hurts pretty decent. Took us all right into the infirmary along with his own wounded. Got another day or two there m'self, then I figger he'll put me up with th' rest. Don't know wot he'll do with us once we're all better - those of us who're gonna get better, I mean."

"Truce, eh?" Clewiston bitterly commented. "Sounds t' me like he's got you all prisoners, right where he wants you."

"He's promised not to harm any of you," Winokur piped in. "He knows he'd jeopardize relations with Redwall if he goes back on his word. And he knows I'll be watching him as close as a mole to the earth. I think he can be convinced to let you all go, as long as you don't do anything out of line, Colonel."

"Me? Last time I met with that badger, you might recall, I gave him a face bath with beetroot wine. Don't reckon he 'n' I have anything left t' hash out."

"But he does wanna speak with you, sir," Traughber said. "That's why I'm out here meetin' you. Urthblood promises he won't harm you, an' you'll be free to leave Salamandastron anytime you want. That only goes fer you lot; those hares wot took part in th' battle 'gainst him stay under guard. Got a feelin', sir, that wot happens to us depends on wot happens 'tween you an' him."

"I don't trust that badger t' keep his word, Sergeant. Wot's to stop him takin' us all prisoner once we're inside, an' havin' us executed?" The Colonel shook his head. "He doesn't like th' bally idea of twenty Long Patrols out here where he can't control us. We're the only insurance you hares in there've got. Urthblood must've taken heavy losses himself. I gather a score o' us could cause his remainin' forces more'n just some minor nuisances."

"Wotever you think's best, sir," said Traughber. "I'm jus' tellin' you wot he told me to. If it were me, I'd prob'ly turn right around an' head back to Redwall. But, uh, Urthblood really does seem t' wanna talk with you, and, well," the Sergeant shuffled a foot in the sand, "uh, it really would raise spirits fer th' others t' see you."

"An' I'd like to see 'em, too. Especially Traveller." Clewiston mulled it over in silence. "All right, here's wot I'll do. If that beast wants t' talk to me, I'll go talk. But th' rest o' you stay here ... includin' you, Sergeant. You might not be up to fightin' snuff just now, but a wounded hare who's free is still better than a healthy one who's a captive."

There were protests from the others who objected to allowing their commander to walk into what was, in all likelihood, a trap. But Clewiston would have none of it.

"You're all stayin' here, an' that's an order! Keep sharp, an' don't let any o' them blighters catch you sleepin'. Lieutenant Gallatin, you're in charge 'til I return. If I'm not back in three days, do wot you think is right. Take care o' Sergeant Traughber. You're all my insurance now."

The Colonel stepped around the fire to face Winokur. "I hope you haven't overestimated yer clout with Urthblood, young pup. Could be my death I'm walkin' to, otherwise ... but at least I'll be in good company when I die. Lead on, sir. Let's get this over with."


	14. Chapter 76

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Seventy-Six

Urthblood greeted Clewiston at the south tunnel entrance. If the Badger Lord was either surprised or disappointed that the Colonel had come alone, he did not show it. They exchanged curt and meaningless salutations, then Clewiston glanced at Urthblood's missing right paw. "I must say, that's an improvement since last I saw you. Mebbe if we slay you just a bit at a time, eventually we'll get the job done."

"We have much to talk about," Urthblood said, totally ignoring the Colonel's caustic comment, "but it is nothing that cannot wait until the morning. Would you like to see the rest of your hares now?"

"Um ... yes. Yes, I would."

"I thought as much. Captain Saybrook, please escort the Colonel up to the dormitory level where the Long Patrol are being housed. See that he causes no trouble, but remember he is my guest, and is free to leave the mountain anytime he wishes."

"Aye aye, M'Lord. This way, Colonel ... "

Meeting with Traveller and the others, Clewiston learned the full account of the disastrous battle. More than once somber tears were shed as the details were related of how one dear friend after another fell before Urthblood's fanatical and deadly fighters. The Colonel gritted his teeth in frustration when he learned that his slain comrades had been committed to the indignity of a common grave.

"If I had been here," he swore, "each of those hares would have had its own grave, even if my company had to work three days straight t' get 'em all dug!"

"Well, we didn't know when you'd be gettin' back," Traveller said. "We were in no state to dig threescore separate graves, after that battle an' five days o' forced march before it, an' wot with most of us bein' wounded someway or 'nother. Hadta get our mates buried 'fore th' gulls 'n' insects got to 'em, an' this was the only way it was gonna get done."

"I understand, ol' chum. No mark off your record. Sure you weren't all too happy 'bout it yerselves. At least the Major got his own plot out in front o' the rest. But, wot did Urthblood do with Lord Urthfist?"

Traveller described the solemn ceremony of that afternoon in which their master had been placed upon the vacant throne within the hidden chamber of Badger Lord lore. Clewiston shuddered visibly at this news. "Wot's wrong, Colonel?" Traveller asked, mystified. "I thought it was rather noble an' fittin' m'self. Not at all wot I'd expected from Urthblood."

"Before we left Salamandastron, Urthblood said he'd let Lord Urthfist have the throne when he was satisfied Urthfist was fit to rule here. Mebbe this is wot that bloody beast had in mind all along ... that the only way he'd give his brother the throne was for Urthfist to be dead first."

Traveller felt a tingle run along his spine and ripple his fur. "Sounds like he gave you a bally prophetic riddle without you even realizin' it. Kinda gives a beast th' creeps, wot?"

"Don't credit that prophecy has anything to do with it, chum," the Colonel bit off. "Doesn't take a prophet to scheme 'n' murder, any evil beast can do that."

"Yeah. I s'pose." Traveller shrugged, but didn't sound at all convinced by Clewiston's assessment. "So, we've filled you in on all wot's happened here. Now, tell us how that red badger was able t' capture our home without slayin' any o' you."

It was Clewiston's turn to tell his tale. The sixteen hares before him sat enraptured by his account of how Urthblood's otters had stolen into Salamandastron in the dead of a black and rainy night and employed the Flitchaye gas to put them all to sleep. They had never heard of such a thing, and would never have guessed that Urthblood might resort to such tactics to achieve his conquest.

"Hardly surprisin' he was able t' pull it off, wot?" declared Traveller. "Can't jolly well defend against somethin' you don't even know exists!"

"Doesn't matter," Clewiston hung his head. "Lord Urthfist charged me with the defense of th' mountain in his absence, an' I failed. T'was my duty to hold Salamandastron against all contingencies the enemy might use, foreseen or not. It'll always weigh upon me, to my dyin' day, whether I might've been able t' do something differently that might've kept Urthblood out."

"Doesn't sound like it, Colonel," Traveller soothed. "None of us would've been able t' see otters marchin' outta th' sea on a moonless night, or fight against smoke that puts a beast to sleep. Urthblood beat us, plain 'n' simple. But we didn't let ourselves get beat. So buck up, ol' chum, an' don't be too hard on yerself."

Clewiston brightened somewhat, realizing he was still commander of the Long Patrols, and a big part of that job was keeping up the morale of his underlings. How could they be expected to hold out any hope for the situation if he started moping around like a shamed leveret?

In keeping with this thought, Clewiston launched into the tale of how they had met up with Browder on the Western Plains and engaged him in a high-speed pursuit for half a morning, all the way to Redwall. Disappointment among the listeners over Browder's narrow escape turned to satisfied smiles when they heard how the Abbess reproached the spy hare and ordered him to leave Redwall in disgrace.

"Well, it sounds like those Abbeyfolk are finally comin' 'round to seein' wot kind of evil beast Urthblood really is," Traveller said hopefully.

"Wouldn't say that," Clewiston sighed. "But at least they're gettin' an idea on how deceitful he can be. An' dishonesty's one thing that rubs Redwallers th' wrong way. Don't know if they'd ever let Browder back inside their Abbey, even if his life were in danger, that's how much they think o' him."

"Serves that fink right," said a female hare named Florissant. "Hope he runs back to th' Northlands with his bobtail 'tween his legs ... no place in Mossflower fer a lyin', spyin' muckface like him. Tho', I fer one would like to have another crack at him, so hopefully he'll stick around t' get the end he deserves."

"Wouldn't be surprised if Browder winds up here, now that Urthblood's got Salamandastron all to himself," the Colonel supposed. "But we got bigger fish t' fry than that traitorous hare. It's other hares wot concern me now - namely, us. Urthblood invited me in with the promise that I'd be free t' go anytime I choose. Sergeant Traughber thought Urthblood wanted to talk t' me before he decided wot t' do with you. If it's within my power, friends, I'll do everything I can to see to it that every hare of the Patrols is allowed to go free. Don't get me wrong - I'm not gonna make a deal with th' devil, or sign on t' any promises that no decent creature could stomach. But, short o' that, I'm duty-bound t' win your release if I can manage it."

"Do you think he was tellin' th' truth about you bein' free t' leave?" Traveller inquired of the Colonel.

"S'pose I could test his pledge easily enuff - just march on down to th' entrance an' walk out, see if anybeast stops me."

"Then do it." Traveller hunched forward. "If you can get outta here, then you should, 'fore he changes his treacherous mind. Don't you worry 'bout us - he's prob'ly not gonna let us leave Salamandastron alive no matter wot you do, an' if he does, I don't want it to be on account o' something you've hadta give him. Leave us to our own fates, Clewey. You got a score o' Long Patrol out there waitin' fer you, an' that's nothin' t' sneeze at. Twenty of us could go a long way towards keepin' Redwall an' Mossflower secure, an' fightin' off Urthblood's tyranny from creepin' inta those fair lands. Those good folks might need a paw in th' seasons ahead, an' who better to lend it than a Colonel of the Long Patrols? You're too valuable to risk yerself here fer us. So if you can escape, you've got to!"

Clewiston looked deep into the eyes of his old friend. "You know I can't do that, Traveller. Even if it were only one of us bein' held here 'gainst their will, I'd hafta do wot I could to free 'em. I'm th' bally commandin' officer, an' that means the welfare o' my hares falls to me. Urthblood wants t talk, so we'll talk ... an' this time I'll try not t' chuck any wine in his face."

"Yes, well, but ... " Traveller's voice trailed off.

"Wot is it, chum?" Clewiston prompted. Clearly, something else was on Traveller's mind.

The veteran scout gazed down at his footpaws. "I know you don't put much stock in Urthblood's power o' prophecy ... "

"Never said that," Clewiston protested. "That prophecy up on th' throne room wall's real enuff ... that's wot this whole war was about."

"Yeah, well, a couple o' times since the battle, when I've been with Urthblood, I've had strange feelings. I think he might have more powers than just those of prophecy."

"Oh? Wot'd you mean?"

Traveller explained, or tried to, about his experiences with the Badger Lord, first on the mountainside after the battle and then in the throne room during Urthfist's interment. The words did not come easily, and Traveller realized he probably sounded like a fool. "Oh, forget I mentioned it," he mumbled.

"No. Go on," Clewiston urged. "This may be important."

Traveller rubbed his thighs in frustration, trying to find the words. "First time it happened I was dead tired an' giddy in th' head, so I didn't pay it much mind. But when it happened again while we were layin' Lord Urthfist to rest, I knew I wasn't imaginin' things. There's somethin' about that badger that's not of this world. Sometimes I felt like it was just fate makin' herself known, but other moments, it seemed to be comin' from him ... not like he was touched by destiny, but the other way 'round. Like th' proper course o' history was bein' warped an' distorted all around us, just 'cos of him standin' there. I think there's some force inside him that's makin' things happen th' way they are. Mebbe he sees the future not 'cos the fates show him, but because he's stealin' history before it has a chance to happen, makin' it conform to his will." Traveller looked hard at Clewiston. "Am I cracked in th' head? 'Cos I don't remember gettin' conked on th' bally bonce durin' the battle, but I guess I coulda been."

"Even if it's true," Clewiston said diplomatically, "I don't know how it helps us any."

"Point is, if the future's wot Urthblood wills it to be, then you can leave us here without guilt, 'cos our fate's already decided," Traveller argued. "You should save yerself, Colonel, while you can."

Clewiston smiled and shook his head. "If your fate's already decided, then mine is too, 'cos I'm sittin' here with you right now. No, that doesn't change a thing, far as I'm concerned. I don't know whether Urthblood's a prophet, a wizard, a madbeast, or just plain evil, but I'm gonna talk to him on your behalf. If I fail, there's a score o' good hares outside who'll carry th' torch fer us. But, if I'm successful, then just mebbe I can double that number. An' that'd be a boon to the lands that's worth th' risk o' me stayin' here. So I will."

Traveller regarded Clewiston in a new light. "An' mebbe Urthblood's not the only beast 'round here who can create th' future by the force o' his will!"

00000000000

Another day dawned over Salamandastron. The vault of the sky brightened from black to gray to pale blue, a robin's egg canvas painted with high, softly-ridged sheets and ribbons of translucent white cloud. The waking gulls took to flight, their morning cries and squawks mingling with the soft hiss and shush of the surf that was punctuated by the occasional rolling boom of the larger breakers. The merest hint of a breeze stirred the air over the coastlands.

A tall flagpole had been erected on the seaward side of the plateau. From it hung the standard of Urthblood, a red badger against a white background. The overlarge flag limply clung to its pole now in the lack of sufficient wind to send it fluttering.

The Badger Lord stood at the crater rim, gazing intently out to sea. He did not even turn around as Clewiston was ushered up the roof stairs by Saybrook and Mattoon and brought up behind Urthblood.

"Good morning, Colonel. I trust you slept well?"

Clewiston was reluctant to admit it, but he'd slept like a baby. After visiting with the captive Long Patrols, including those recovering down in the infirmary, he'd been shown to his old room and the soft bed within. It was the first time in many nights that he would be able to sleep in such comfort, and after his two-way trek over the mountains to Redwall and back, his weary body surrendered to the bliss of a cozy mattress and a warm blanket. Given the situation, he was almost ashamed of himself for enjoying such a good night's slumber while dear comrades sat under lock and guard. Then again, the uninterrupted sleep had left him refreshed and clear-headed. He would need to be sharp for the negotiations that lay ahead.

"Well enough, I s'pose," Clewiston replied as he stepped to the crater rim alongside Urthblood. "Woulda preferred t' sleep in with my hares, but they're prisoners an' I'm not, though I notice you're still keepin' a guard on me wherever I - egads!"

"Yes," Urthblood nodded, "as you see, we have company."

Offshore, not one, not two, not even three, but four mighty sailing ships lay at anchor, their prows pointed threateningly at Salamandastron as the light breeze sent ripples across their imposing sails of red, black and green. These were attack vessels of the searat king, four of the largest dreadnoughts in Tratton's fleet. Twice the size of most corsair galleons, these ships could each carry two hundred rat soldiers as well as their regular crews. Tratton used them for his larger raids, or when he wanted to establish a fortified beachhead to open mining or forestry operations on the mainland - any situation where an enemy might offer sizeable resistance. It was such tactics that had made Tratton the most fearsome and formidable searat king in the history of sailing beasts. To find four such craft together in one place represented an unprecedented concentration of Tratton's power. A seaborn army of perhaps a thousand waited out there just beyond the breakers, and there could be little doubt of its intent. It was a sight Clewiston had hoped never to behold, not even when Lord Urthfist was alive and the Long Patrol had been at the peak of their strength.

The Colonel swallowed in a dry throat. "Friends o' yers?"

"Hardly. And if you still believe I am allied with Tratton, watch, and you will discover how mistaken you are."

"Wotcha gonna do?"

"That depends upon what Tratton does," Urthblood said. "He is on one of those ships ... I can feel it."

"Funny, him comin' here right when you do," Clewiston commented wryly.

"Tratton has his spies too, Colonel. When he learned that I had left the Northlands for Mossflower with a large force, he might have guessed at the possibility of conflict between the two Lords of the Mountain. Like any shrewd conqueror, he mustered his forces in case an opportunity opened for him to take Salamandastron for himself. Tell me, what would have happened had this searat force arrived when there were only a score of you holding the mountain?"

Clewiston frowned. "Don't think I would've liked our chances."

"I would think not. We should consider ourselves lucky that he has arrived too late."

"Lucky? Too late?" Clewiston spat and spluttered. "You think we've got any real chance if they attack in force?"

"It has cost the lives of many decent creatures, including my own brother, to put Salamandastron under the rule of a single strong paw. I will not lose it now. For the sake of all the lands, this mountain must not fall to Tratton. I was not willing to allow Urthfist to place this fortress under siege and make me a captive in my own home, but with Tratton I may now have no choice. As long as we can deny him entry into Salamandastron, he cannot win."

"Yah ... but neither can we. An' we can't hold out forever, not 'gainst a horde th' likes o' that."

"It won't have to be forever." Urthblood turned and gestured across the plateau. A falcon there perched mournfully over a large stone cairn, the grave of its sister captain. "My kite Halpryn was slain by Sergeant Traughber during the battle, but that still leaves my falcon captain Klystra, who can cover great distances tirelessly and with great speed. I can send for help from Redwall, or from my forces in the north. The squirrel archers of the Gawtrybe and the Broadstream otters are potent fighters, and could probably best any force of searats that they faced. They could be here in numbers by the middle of next season, and much sooner if they come by sea with the help of logboat shrews. We should be able to hold out that long, even if we have to seal tight the three remaining entrances."

Urthblood gave Clewiston a searching, penetrating look. "What I need to know, Colonel, is whether I can count on you to stand with me in the defense of Salamandastron. I trust you have no wish to see Tratton triumph here any more than I do."

"A good deal less, I'd wager. But I was figurin' you'd just invite him in t' divvy up the spoils between you. Are you sure you're not buddies with that scurvy, slavin' villain?"

"I abhor slavery, in all its forms, above all else," Urthblood firmly stated. "I count searats among my greatest enemies, not my allies."

Clewiston glanced aside to where two of Urthblood's surviving rat troops stood. "Looks t' me like you have some in yer service right here."

"Those are woodland rats. As a general rule, I have never accepted searats into my service."

"There's a difference?"

"I am surprised the commander of the Long Patrols would even need to ask such a thing. But then, if your only experience with rats has been with the pirate variety, I can see how that would color your view of the entire species. Believe me, Colonel, the rats I have put under arms are in an altogether different league than the ones out there on those ships."

"And you would know that because of the time you spent at sea with Tratton?" Clewiston pounced. "Traveller said the two o' you looked quite at home with each other when you went sailin' off together after you helped him rebuild his boat."

"I risked those voyages because I recognized Whiteclaw as my future enemy," Urthblood explained. "Understanding a foe can be an important advantage - something Urthfist apparently never appreciated. My actions then were a sacrifice that I thought might benefit me over the course of time."

"And has it?" the Colonel asked cynically.

"That remains to be seen. But I know Tratton better than anybeast alive who isn't a searat. And I do not believe he will launch an attack this day. He and I are destined to clash before our seasons are ended, but the time is not yet right."

"Wot makes you say that?"

"For one thing, Tratton did not see the actual battle, or so we surmise. He does not know which side won, whether he faces the Long Patrol or a much larger force of my Northlanders. He does not even know for certain that my brother and I did not unite our forces, and now wait to unleash our full strength upon any invasion he cares to mount. And there is one factor more which stays his paw."

"An' that is?"

"I know Tratton, because of the season we sailed together. And, by the same token, he knows me. He knows me very well."

As if prompted by these words, a stiff breeze kicked up quite suddenly, blowing out of the south. It caught the banner dangling from the flagpole above them, drawing it out and sending it flapping, the bold design upon it now clearly displayed for all to see.

00000000000

A lean and dangerous figure, gray-furred and neat, its lavender-trimmed charcoal tunic as sleek and crisp as any Long Patrol hare's uniform. Unbooted footclaws bare against the swabbed deck planking, perhaps in memory of the tyrant's own days as a young, rig-climbing deckrat, or perhaps so he could move with the stealth required to trap traitorous challengers to his throne. One eye scrunched closed as the other faintly purple-tinged orb peered through the narrow end of the long glass. A thousand searats standing ready to launch the greatest sea assault ever attempted, all waiting on the word of this solitary beast who stood alone at the wide prow of the dreadnought "Whiteclaw." No other dared stand too close to the searat king; too many had lost their lives that way.

Right now that merciless and appraising one-eyed gaze was fixed upon the upper reaches of Salamandastron. Figures could be seen at the crater rim, and one did seem to be a badger. But even with the long glass it was impossible to tell the exact identity of the stripe-faced beast. A pair of long ears stuck up from the head of the smaller creature beside it, but there were others on the plateau who might not be hares. Which Lord of the Mountain now held sway at Salamandastron, that prize of all prizes which had enticed searats for ages unknown?

Doubt was removed when the sudden breeze made the oversized battle banner stand out stiffly from its pole. The crimson badger emblem was unmistakable in the magnified circular viewing field of the telescope.

The spyglass was slowly lowered. Its owner opened its other eye - this one was light green, as opposed to its pale violet companion. That two-hued gaze had become the most feared thing on the high seas, dreaded above even the violent ocean storms and the monstrous beasts of the deep. And when those lavender-and-jade eyes clouded over with consternation, as they did now, followers of the searat king trembled.

"Urthblood is at Salamandastron," the pirate ruler announced. His voice was calm and assured.

The rats around him - officers and advisors, fighters and deckpaws, the lowest and the elite - held their collective breath as they awaited their emperor's edict.

The sealord's face was set hard. "Haul up the anchors!" he ordered at last. "Set a course for the northwest! We're heading back to Terramort!"

His seniormost captain dared to step forward as others moved to obey and relay the command to the other ships. "Yer Majesty! There ain't never gonna be a better chance to take Salaman'stron! They jus' fought a battle ... they ain't got a prayer o' standin' 'gainst this army we got here now!"

"A battle? Whose word do we have on that? A couple o' dead seabirds who're resting in our bellies now, an' the crew of an ironclad whose periscope may not have been working properly! Upon the high plateau of Salamandastron I see the standard of Urthblood, but I also see hares. How do we know there are not two Badger Lords in there now, with enough fighters to slice our force to ribbons?"

"But ... there's graves dug on the south side! You saw 'em yerself, M'Lord!"

"I saw what looked like a pit that had been dug out and then filled in again. Can you tell me for sure that there are any bodies under that sand? If so, whose, and how many?" The searat king turned his appraising two-toned gaze back toward the mountain fortress. "We cannot be sure. And therefore we will not attack. Not until we have made ... further preparations."

"It's a mistake! We can take 'em, be they one badger or two!"

The regal head snapped around, the dual-colored eyes narrowing dangerously. "You have served me faithfully for many seasons, so I will not have you slain for insubordination. Utter one word more of defiance, Fangblaze, and I might change my mind."

Captain Fangblaze literally sank his teeth into his tongue to hold his silence, nodding in forlorn humiliation.

"And what of me, husband?" a cutting voice challenged from behind the royal searat. "Will you have me slain, or perhaps put in irons, for saying that Fangblaze is right, and you would be a fool not to attack?"

"Ah, my dear Regelline!" A theatrical and mocking smile lit the rat king's aqualine features. "Once again you show your ignorance of military matters. Do you really believe we should attack Urthblood?"

"I did not imagine that I married a coward," his queen taunted. "Urthfist is most likely dead. Urthblood is in there alone, and his forces have probably suffered heavy losses. Salamandastron will never be this vulnerable again! Attack, I say, or you are not worthy of the title of king!"

He strode slowly over to her and laid a loving paw on the side of her face.

"If you really feel so strongly about this, my dear, I will have you sent ashore in a dinghy and you can fight Urthblood yourself."

She snarled and sank her fangs into his claw. Grimacing, he smashed her viciously across the snout and sent her sprawling to the deck.

"I will not grapple with that red demon!" the searat king declared to his crew. "We will return to Terramort, and if fate is kind, we will conquer the coastlands on another day. Now, turn these ships around! It sours my stomach to gaze upon what I cannot have!"

The most powerful searat king who had ever lived stepped over his wife's crumpled and sobbing form on his way to the royal cabin suite. He did not want to see his unattainable treasure recede into the distance as they fled from its new Lord.

00000000000

The departure of the searat fleet was watched with keen interest not just from Salamandastron, but from the higher coastal plain east of the mountain fortress.

The score of hares waiting outside for word from Clewiston were not even aware of the pirate fleet until the leading dreadnought nosed out from behind Salamandastron on its way north again. Tratton's assault force had arrived under cover of night, and the broad bulk of the mountain had hidden the ships from view even after dawn broke. The sight of one, then two and three, and finally four of Tratton's mightiest attack vessels appearing suddenly as if from nowhere caused a near panic among the waiting Long Patrols. There was debate over whether they should sprint toward Salamandastron and try to gain entry before Urthblood's searat allies could occupy the stronghold, or escape back up the mountain pass to their east.

In the end their indecision and hesitation solved their dilemma for them.

"I say, chappies!" Lieutenant Gallatin shouted for everyhare's attention. "Those nasty seabeasties ain't stoppin'! They're passin' right on by!"

The others all fell quiet and still, standing silent in the warm sun of the blossoming day as their intent gazes followed the four pirate attack ships slowly northward and outward, away from the coast and toward open sea. Gallatin was quite correct: the dreadnoughts were clearly sailing away from what should have been their target.

"A trick, d' you think?" queried Peppertail to nobeast in particular. The debate and speculation started anew.

"Too far away t' make out how many rats are on deck an' up in the riggings."

"Aye - can't tell whether they're fully crewed or not."

"They could've put off a whole army o' them scurvy rotters 'round where we couldn't see 'em."

"Could be sittin' there on the western side o' the mountain right now."

"Unless they're already inside - we don't know how long those bloomin' ships were docked there 'fore we saw 'em. Urthblood could've brought 'em all in during th' night."

"You really think His Bloodiness is workin' with Tratton?"

"Do you doubt it, chappie?"

Lieutenant Gallatin scanned the coastal plain to the north and south of their position. "Well, nobeast is gonna be able t' sneak up on us in this flat terrain, so that's not a worry. If those ships dropped off some o' their crews, nothing we can do 'bout it now, 'specially if they're already inside Salamandastron. The Colonel knew he might be walkin' inta trouble, that's why he ordered us t' stay here. So we'll follow his orders, an' stick around here fer two days more. Long as nobeast bothers us, we'll wait 'n' watch, just like we was told to do."

"An' wot'll we do in two days, if the Colonel isn't back by then?" Melanie asked.

Gallatin sank down onto the sand, helping Traughber settle into the supportive, slope-backed resting pit they'd dug for the injured Sergeant. "Hafta cross that bally bridge when we come to it, Mel."


	15. Chapter 77

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Seventy-Seven

Winokur and Alexander stood side by side in solemn silence before the otter grave.

In time, a polished stone obelisk would be placed at the head of each common grave, and those monuments would bear the engraved names of every warrior who now slept eternally beneath the sandy soil. The moles were up in Salamandastron working on those memorials even now, but it would be some while yet before they would complete this painstaking task. And so, for now, simple painted planks identified the species lying under each mound. Not that those who'd participated in the burial duties would be likely to forget such a thing.

The crude wood sign with the single word "otters" scrawled upon it stuck up out of the sand at a careless angle, looking for all the world like an oversized garden sign identifying what kind of seeds were planted here. Winokur stepped forward and straightened the plank, shoving it deeper and packing down the sand around its base with his footpaw so that it might remain properly upright.

"Never woulda guessed how much I'd miss him," the young otter said, voice husky with sadness.

"Warny was a good beast," Alex nodded solemnly. "Some of us at the Abbey might've had differences with him over the seasons - especially in regards to how he was never around for you like a father should be - but that rogue had a heart of gold, and that can't be denied. A lot of goodbeasts lost their lives in that battle ... " The squirrel glanced aside at some of the other graves. "And not just otters, not by a long sight."

"I never realized how awful war could be. If I'd known it was going to turn out like this, I would have stayed home ... and I would have tried to talk Dad into staying there too."

Alex rested a comforting paw on Winokur's shoulder. "Your Dad was a free spirit among free spirits, and that wanderer was born to follow his own road. Don't go blaming yourself for what happened. You couldn't have changed things with Warnokur. He'd already been in Urthblood's service for a season when this all started. He was bound to come here with all his new friends and comrades-in-arms. And it was mighty brave of you to make this journey yourself. Your father was very proud of you ... and Redwall will be too."

Winokur bowed his head. "I don't feel very brave. Or very useful. I came here to stop this war, and it couldn't have gone more wrong. From the moment Urthfist charged the front lines, I felt like I'd woken up in a nightmare, watching it all unfold from up in the tunnel. Is that always what wars are like? 'Cos if it is, I don't ever wanna find myself involved in one again."

Alex shook his head. "You can bet acorns to an oak there's never been any battle like this before. Goodbeasts just don't fight goodbeasts. Not supposed to happen that way."

"Except this time it did," Winokur said.

"Yah. This time it did."

Winokur's gaze fell back to the otter burial mound. "Dad ought not to be buried with all these others. I'm not saying he deserves more honor than the rest, but he's a Redwaller, even if he didn't spend as much time there as he should've. We should've taken him home and buried him in the Abbey, or nearby Mossflower, since he loved those woods so much."

Alex patted Wink's shoulder reassuringly. "Maybe. But I'd wager Warny would've wanted to be laid to rest right where he is. He was a warrior at the end, and this is where he fell, fighting for what he thought was right. He belongs with his fellow warriors. Keep him forever in your thoughts, that's only proper. And rest assured that Brother Geoff will preserve your Dad's memory in the Abbey records. But his place is here."

Winokur straightened, blinking away his tears. "Yes, sir. I suppose it is."

Captain Saybrook came up behind them, carrying a folded garment in his paw. "Ahoy, there, Wink lad! Now that those scurvy searat pirate wavewallopers are gone, us otters are gonna do some more fishin'. Care t' join us? I brought you a proper otter vest that one o' th' lads had as an extra they could spare. Should fit you jus' fine. So why don'tcha slip outta them messy robes, put this on an' come along fer a swim?"

Winokur looked down at his bloodstained habit. "Guess this is pretty much ruined. The Abbess won't be very happy about that ... "

"Don't be silly!" Saybrook laughed. "We Northland warriorbeasts learned long ago how t' get blood like that outta our clothes, believe you me. You just lemme give that to our launderers, an' they'll fix it right up. Look good as new by th' time they're through with it. Don't want yer lovely Abbess marm gettin' peeved at you on top o' everything else, do we?"

00000000000

While most of the creatures at Salamandastron took their lunch in the main dining hall, Urthblood met with Clewiston and Traveller down in the mountain's strategy room.

The two hares sat at Urthblood's right; they were the only three at the oblong map table. Two foxes stood back near the doorway, where they'd taken up station after escorting the Long Patrol duo down here to the bowels of the stronghold. A simple repast of cold water and mixed vegetable pasties had been set out atop the glass-covered bas-relief of the coastlands at the center of the polished-granite table. The Colonel and his old scout friend helped themselves to two pasties apiece, and filled their pewter goblets from the water pitcher.

"Just water, eh?" Clewiston mused aloud. "Woulda thought you'd roll out something more extravagant fer the occasion, wot?"

"I still smell vaguely of beetroot wine from our last meal together, Colonel. The odor does not easily come out of fur or armor. In case you decided to hurl your drink at me a second time, I chose a beverage which would leave me less fragrant."

"Mebbe I will, mebbe I won't," Clewiston considered. "Depends on wot you've got t' say."

Urthblood sipped left-pawed at his own beaker of water, but touched none of the food. "The time has come to discuss what is to happen now between us."

"Reckon that's your call t' make. Sir." Clewiston's inflection turned this last word into an insult.

"No need to be disrespectful, Colonel. I have treated you and your fellow hares well and courteously since my return to my home."

"Except fer the sixty-one you slew," Clewiston said.

"They might all still be alive if my brother had not chosen to attack. I have treated your survivors with far greater kindness than Urthfist would have shown my troops had he proved victorious."

Traveller nodded. "Yah, that's true," he had to agree.

"But wot's to become of 'em now?" Clewiston jumped in on top of Traveller's conciliatory tone.

"That is what we must decide," Urthblood said.

"We?" Clewiston's voice was less mocking now, but still unconvinced. "You really plan t' give us any jolly say in th' matter?"

"You will have more say over your own fates than I will, that I assure you."

"Well, then, let's put yer words to th' test," Clewiston challenged. "Release all the hares you're holdin'."

"Several of them are still in need of treatment for their injuries, and are in no condition to travel, even were they free to leave. My foxes can minister to them better than anybeast between here and Redwall. By the way, I would include Sergeant Traughber amongst them. It was unwise of him not to return as I instructed. I believe he would have done so unless ordered to do otherwise. Your doing, I assume, Colonel?"

"Consider it a trade, chap. Me fer him."

"That would be fine, except that you do not have a broken arm and shoulder, cracked ribs, and various other injuries."

"He can't have been in all that much distress, if he was able t' walk out to greet us where he did."

"Broken bones need time to heal properly, even after they are set. I hope this folly does nothing to undo the treatment we gave him. I dislike having my efforts wasted on ungrateful creatures. Perhaps you will be able to convince him to come back inside, along with the rest of your hares whom you left waiting out there with him."

"An' why, pray tell, would I want t' do that?"

"That depends upon what agreements we reach here now," replied Urthblood.

Clewiston cocked an ear toward the badger. "You're not gonna say wot I think you're gonna say ... "

"There is only one Lord of the Mountain now, and I am that badger. My brother is dead; you may honor his memory however you wish, but you can no longer serve under him. It would be foolish of you to let some misplaced sense of loyalty cloud your judgment in this matter. You are the Long Patrol. You are sworn to certain duties. I would urge you to continue fulfilling those responsibilities for me just as you did for Urthfist."

Traveller merely boggled, wide-eyed and drop-jawed, at this statement. But Clewiston, who'd heard this argument from Urthblood before, shook his head.

"No greater way for us t' dishonor Lord Urthfist's memory than t' join up with you. You use words like 'duty' an' 'responsibility' an' 'honor' like weapons t' get wot you want, demandin' such things from other beasts without havin' a clue yerself as to wot they really mean. I gave you my answer on this already, last time we met. Nothing's changed."

"Everything has changed. You fought a war against me. And you lost."

Clewiston spread his paws. "So, you can only kill us. You can't defeat us, an you sure as shivers can't make us do wot we don't wanna."

"I would not force any creature to serve me against its will; even my vermin troops, many of whom formerly served my enemies, were given a choice. And I have no desire to kill you. If I cannot convince you to remain here at Salamandastron in your full capacity as the Long Patrol, then you will be free to go."

"All of us?"

"All except Hanchett, who might not survive his injuries anyway. He will remain here, to face a judgment of treason if he lives."

"Wot?" Clewiston and Traveller exclaimed together. Traveller went on, "Wot'd that lad do that was any different from wot th' rest o' us did?"

"He directly assaulted the rightful Lord of Salamandastron," Urthblood held up his iron-capped stump, "with this as a result. As long as you hares engaged my troops while you were under my brother's command, it was war. But when Hanchett tripped me with the intent of causing my death, then his actions became treasonous. Every other hare who attacked me directly during the battle now lies under the burial mound outside. Hanchett will be charged as a traitor, and then I will decide his fate."

"That's not fair!" Traveller protested. Clewiston laid a restraining paw on his comrade's shoulder.

"I must decide for myself what is fair in this instance," Urthblood said. "A Badger Lord must often face difficult decisions. But you may have it within your power to convince me to decide differently than I otherwise might."

Clewiston's ears stiffened. "Wot d' you mean?" he demanded, although he was fairly certain what was coming next.

"If the surviving Long Patrols should agree to stay here and accept my Lordship, then naturally I would want the fullest complement of them that I could have. Twoscore hares is still a considerable fighting force; there have been times in Salamandastron's history when the entire strength of the Patrols have been less than that. If you swear me your loyalty, Colonel, then I might be convinced that Hanchett would be valuable enough as a member of your command to warrant a pardon for his offense."

"You're holding Hanchett hostage for our servitude!" Clewiston said in disbelief.

"I did not say that. I might still decide that Hanchett must die even if you take me as your new Lord, or I might still grant him leniency even though you refuse my offer. I merely wanted you to be aware of all the considerations in this matter."

"Pfaw! I shouldn't be surprised, I know, but every time I think you're as low as you can go, you find some new depths t' sink to. Sir."

"I am sorry that your regard for me is so low, Colonel. But there are better reasons than Hanchett's fate for why you should accept my Lordship."

"Such as?"

"Such as the fact that hares belong at Salamandastron. Searats do not. You saw for yourself this morning the kind of numbers Tratton could throw against us if he chose to. We are most fortunate that he decided not to press an invasion today; the outcome would have been uncertain. But because he knows my reputation, he broke off when he saw my banner flying and realized I now command this fortress. If nothing else, that incident should prove to you that Tratton is no ally of mine. If he were, he would have forces inside Salamandastron even as we speak."

"Wot happened this morn' don't prove a bally thing," Clewiston maintained. "So, he breezed on by when he saw yer flagrag. Could be interpreted several different ways. Fer instance, mebbe you are allies, an' when he saw you'd captured this place on yer own, he knew he wouldn't hafta attack. Who's t' say he won't come sneakin' back 'ere after you've gotten rid of us, an' make himself right at home?"

"You have just provided the strongest argument for why the Long Patrols should remain here, Colonel. Whether you trust me or not, the one thing you can be sure of is that there are no searats currently inside Salamandastron. If I did not wish for this to remain so, why would I try to convince you to stay? You hares would be your own best defense against any treachery you might suspect from me. So stay, even if you believe it is only to keep me honest. I know you would fight to the death to prevent Tratton from taking this mountain."

"An' mebbe that's wot you're countin' on: us fightin' to the death, 'gainst hopeless odds. Neat way t' get rid of us, wot? If we go away, we're beyond yer control, an' you don't want that, in case we come back t' bite you someday. But if we stay, you'll know where we are all th' time an' wot we're doin'. T'would be very easy fer your searat friends t' come back in th' kind o' force they had today. We wouldn't stand a blinkin' chance, 'specially if you tried some trick like sealin' us outside or attackin' us from behind with yer peaceful, woodland vermin. We'd be crushed between you an' Tratton, but you'd be able t' turn around an' tell th' goodbeasts o' Mossflower how the Long Patrols were tragically wiped out whilst valiantly strivin' to keep searats outta Salamandastron. No thanks, chap. I'll only relax when I'm far away from you ... an' even then I'll be keepin' an ear cocked an' an eye sharp, you c'n count on it."

"All you say would be true, if I am the evil and treacherous beast you accuse me of being. Now assume for a moment that I am being truthful. Your presence here might make the difference between keeping the coastlands safe and losing them to Tratton. How would you feel if you were sitting somewhere safe and sound in Mossflower, concerned only with keeping yourselves out of my reach, and such news came to you? Would you not ask yourselves whether there was something you might have been able to do to prevent such a calamity?"

Clewiston dismissed this scenario with the wave of a paw. "An' why would such a thing happen, unless you jolly well allowed it? If Tratton wasn't gonna attack you with that force he had here t'day, then I can't see him ever challenging you. That's if he really is afraid o' you, which strains my bally credibility just a tad."

"You do not seem to appreciate that Tratton's power is still growing," Urthblood said. "It is not numbers alone that would decide any conflict between us, but strategy and the types of weapons used. Such as his new iron boats which run underwater. Traditional wooden ships are vunerable. If Tratton had attacked this morning, I could have sent my otters out to bore holes in his ships' hulls to sink them, or to climb aboard and set them afire. That would not work on these new types of vessels. Tratton has only two or three of them at the moment, but he is building more. With a fleet of such craft, an assault on Salamandastron would stand a much greater chance of success. The all-out invasion that was forestalled today may only have been postponed until another day, I fear."

"So wot? You've got yer otters, an' yer mice 'n' hedgehogs, as well as yer foxes with their swords an' yer squirrels with their bows 'n' arrows ... not t' mention all yer vermin. You already got, wot, a couple hundred beasts o' yer own to hold this place. You don't need any hares t'all."

"To hold Salamandastron itself, perhaps not. I can always send for reinforcements from the Northlands, enough to bring my forces here up to their pre-battle strength if I wanted. But what would that avail me? Of all the various creatures you just named, which can cover distance and scout the lands as the Long Patrols could? Being Lord of the Mountain means keeping all the coastlands secure, not just the mountain itself. Without the Patrols, Colonel, the coastlands may well fall to Tratton, even if Salamandastron does not. I need hares to protect the shores. I need your hares. You are the only force trained for this duty, and the only creatures who can perform it."

"I'm sure you'll be able t' find somebeasts to do it," Clewiston started, but Traveller stopped him with a paw to the shoulder.

"There might be somethin' to wot he's sayin'," the veteran scout said to his companion. "Do we really want t' abandon th' coastlands? Who's gonna patrol 'em if we don't?"

Clewiston looked askance at Traveller. "Don't tell me you'd actshully consider workin' for this beast, ol' chum? You'd favor rubbin' elbows with his vermin an' foxes?"

"If it's any incentive," Urthblood offered, "I can arrange to send all my surviving rats, weasels and foxes back to the Northlands, keeping only creatures such as otters, mice and moles here. I take it you would have no objections to working with honorable and brave woodlanders?"

"That'd still leave you," Clewiston said curtly.

"I have no plans to go anywhere," Urthblood confirmed. "At least not for awhile yet. I am still needed in the north, but my top priority now must be the security of Salamandastron and the coastlands."

Clewiston returned his attention to the other hare. "You don't really wanna do this. Do you?"

"Look at it this way, Clewey," Traveller said. "We fought a war against Urthblood, an' like he said, we lost. If he wanted us dead, I wouldn't be talkin' to you right now. He's treated us a lot better'n we had any reason to expect, an' he gave Lord Urthfist a right honorable burial ceremony. You weren't here to see how fierce the battle was. He would've been well within his rights to keep fightin' us after His Lordship fell. He coulda slain us all out on the battlefield, an' nobeast woulda been able to gainsay him, not even the Redwallers. But he took our surrender, showed us mercy, an' treated our wounded like they was his own.

"Now he's offering us a chance to fight searats. Isn't that wot we're all about? Urthblood's the Lord here now, an' nothin' we can do about it. Think wot you want about him - an' my own thoughts on him ain't exactly warm an' fuzzy - but there's still the coastlands wot need protectin'. We got a choice on that score. We know we can do th' job. So, do we keep on doin' it, or do we leave it up to creatures who can't do it as well? I'm just sayin' it's not somethin' we should dismiss outta paw, that's all."

"An' s'pose it's a trick?" Clewiston demanded. "S'pose it's more deception an' treachery, like that business with Browder? Mebbe he showed you mercy as a ruse t' get th' rest of us in here, so he could take care o' us all at once?" Clewiston grimaced, drawing his paw across his throat.

"You seem to be forgetting, Colonel," Urthblood reminded him, "that I had ample opportunity to take care of you and your twenty hares, had that been my intention, long before my brother ever challenged me on the field of battle. Does the fact that I allowed you to go free at that time - after taking great pains to capture Salamandastron without harming a hare among you - count for nothing?"

Traveller gave the enemy badger a cold glare. "Who said anything about us all comin' inside, Clewey? Fer that matter, we wouldn't even necessarily hafta swear our loyalty t' Urthblood or take 'im as our new Lord. We could set ourselves up somewhere else on the coast ... patrol it in our own fashion, without havin' to answer to this beast."

The two hares gazed expectantly at Urthblood, waiting to see what his reaction to this would be. The Badger Lord waved a casual paw.

"If your decision is to leave Salamandastron, you will be free to go where you will, as long as it does not interfere with my own activities. If you continue patrolling the coastlands on your own, I would have no problem with that, although I would hope for free communication and cooperation between your hares and my forces. Tratton is our common enemy. Perhaps, after you have had some time to see that I am serious about keeping him off these shores, we will come to be allies in the face of this threat."

"An' there is Hanchett to keep in mind," Traveller murmured to the Colonel.

Clewiston wiped at his whiskers, his suspicious gaze on Urthblood. "Your words would carry a lot more weight if there was some action behind 'em. Prove you mean wot you say. Let these hares go. Today."

Urthblood was silent for some moments, his steely gaze unreadable. Then he gave a single nod. "Very well. Under one condition."

"Wot?"

"Those in the infirmary must remain there for treatment ... and Sergeant Traughber must return as well. The other sixteen who are well enough may leave if they wish."

"An' me?"

"You were always free to come and go as you please, as we agreed. The only condition is that you will remain under armed escort wherever you go inside the mountain. The others must remain outside once they leave, unless you swear me your oath of fealty."

"Stayin' outside is fine, given that alternative." Clewiston stood, and Traveller followed his example. "So, let's get to it. I feel like taking my hares on a bally after-lunch stroll."

"Sure we could all stand t' stretch our stumps a bit," Traveller said enthusiastically, then glanced at Urthblood's right wrist. "Oops, uh, poor choice o' words," he mumbled with genuine chagrin.

"Think nothing of it," Urthblood said nonchalantly as he walked around the two hares. "Come, and we'll give your fellows the good news."

00000000000

Colonel Clewiston left Salamandastron with the liberated Long Patrols, conducting them out to where the rest of his own platoon waited on the eastern reaches of the coastal plain. When the Colonel returned to the mountain shortly after sundown, Sergeant Traughber was with him, in accordance with Urthblood's conditions. Clewiston would have preferred that Traughber remain free, but the Sergeant insisted that they honor their part of the agreement. It was quite obvious that Urthblood's diagnosis had been correct: Traughber would need an additional day or two of bedrest to recover properly. And so, against Clewiston's gut feelings, the Sergeant gave himself back into their conqueror's custody.

The Colonel accompanied Traughber down to the infirmary, wanting to check on the other three hares who were there. Saticoy had been declared out of danger by the swordfox healers; the prompt attention given him by the mice out on the slope had saved his life, although he would never speak again. The mute hare actually smiled weakly at Clewiston's words of encouragement, then sipped at some vegetable broth spooned to him by an attending mole. Another of the Patrols, Baxley, had had a third of a spear break off inside him, but the foxes had somehow managed to extract it and keep him alive. So Baxley too was now awake and alert, and well on the way to recovery.

The same could not be said for Hanchett. The young runner who'd tripped Urthblood only to have the armored badger come crashing down on him was still in a bad way. During Clewiston's visit Hanchett hovered on the edge of wakefulness, but was too delirious to hold any meaningful conversation, and his agonized groans made the Colonel wince. The fox in charge of the ward assured Clewiston that Hanchett was being given the highest dosage of medicine to soothe his pain that was safe. Beyond that, all possible treatments had been administered, and there was nothing more to be done. Hanchett would survive or succumb on his own.

When he was sure he wouldn't be overheard, Clewiston held brief whispered conversations with Saticoy and Baxley. They nodded their understanding as they heard the decision that had been reached by their fellow hares, and accepted it without objection. Then Clewiston bade them goodnight and headed up, two otter guards at his side, to seek out Urthblood.

The Badger Lord had anticipated the hare commander's needs and had a late supper set out for Clewiston in the dining hall. Urthblood had Winokur and Alexander join him while he spoke with the Colonel.

Lady Mina joined them as well. The two Redwallers and the Gawtrybe squirrel sat across from Clewiston, while Urthblood sat between them at the table's head. Hare and badger studied each other in the flickering bronze tones of evening torchlight.

"You had something to say to me, Colonel?" Urthblood prompted.

"Yah. We all discussed your proposal outside this afternoon. Turned out it didn't need much discussin'. We will not serve you."

Urthblood digested this in silence, stone-faced as ever, then asked, "And you are certain you require no further time to think about this?"

"We're not gonna change our minds," Clewiston shook his head emphatically. "We just don't trust you, an' likely never will. So be Lord o' the bally Mountain all you want, but you won't have th' Long Patrols t' help you. Now ... am I still free to go?"

"This very moment, if you desire. That was our agreement."

"Wot about Sergeant Traughber, an' Saticoy 'n' Baxley?"

"They are in no condition to travel any distance. I must insist that they remain here until at least the first day of autumn. That is not so far away. After that, they will be free to go with you wherever you wish."

"Are you still gonna kill Hanchett?" Clewiston asked.

"If he survives, he will be charged with treason. My judgment may be death, or it may be a pardon. I do not think I am being any harsher in this matter than any other Lord of the Mountain would be. I will decide his punishment at the proper time ... if such a time ever comes."

Clewiston heaved a deep sigh. The decisions left to him this day were ones no commander of the Long Patrols should ever have to make. "I feel awful sorry for that lad, he was a fine young hare. Reminds me of Traveller in his younger days. But my responsibilities are bigger than just one hare. I'm not gonna enslave the entire Long Patrol - wot's left of 'em - to you, on account o' Hanchett. Lots o' good hares died fightin' you ... Hanchett still may. I gotta look out fer th' ones I can still help. I figger, if you got it in mind t' execute Hanchett, ain't a blinkin' thing I can do 'bout it, so he's in th' paws o' fate now. Just another casualty of this fur-forsaken war. But fer th' rest of us, we're leavin' while we can."

"I will not try to hide the fact that I am disappointed in this decision, Colonel," Urthblood rumbled. "I truly hoped to have the Long Patrols to assist me with the defense of the coastlands. But my brother poisoned your minds against me. Of all his misdeeds, that is the one for which I shall never be able to forgive him."

"Keep yer forgiveness. Lord Urthfist wouldn't want it," Clewiston said somewhat testily.

Urthblood ignored the hare's bad grace, even as Lady Mina scowled in agitation. "Will you stay with the Patrols outside until the end of the season, when your three comrades can leave the infirmary?"

"Not if I can help it." Clewiston looked across at Winokur and Alex. The young otter had traded Abbess Mhera's bloodstained habit for the traditional otter jerkin Saybrook had given him that morning, but he still held himself proudly as the Abbey's representative here. "When're you two returnin' to Redwall?" the Colonel asked.

"I don't know about Alexander," said Winokur, "but I'm planning to leave tomorrow. I wasn't able to stop the war I came to prevent, and I lost my father in the bargain." A glint of dampness showed at the corners of his eyes. "I just want to get back home to the Abbey as soon as I can. There's always been a healing spirit to Redwall, and I need that right now more than I need anything."

"Tomorrow, eh? Well, plan on havin' some bally company on yer homeward march, son, 'cos you ain't th' only one 'round here in need of healin'. Now, wot I gotta ask is, wot are th' chances of the Abbess agreein' t' let us live at Redwall, permanently?"

Alex and Wink stared openmouthed at the Colonel.

"That slim, huh? Well, there's still penty other places in Mossflower fer a crack division o' hares like us t' hang our hats ... "

"Oh, no. No, no, no!" Winokur stammered. "You just caught us by surprise, that's all. The idea of the Long Patrol, living at Redwall ... I mean, that's not something I think anybeast has ever imagined. But I'm sure the Abbess would welcome you with open paws." The otter looked to Urthblood. "That's if you have no objections, My Lord."

"This would be between Redwall and the Long Patrol. I would have no say in the matter ... up to a point."

"And what point would that be?" Clewiston asked.

"I will not stop you from leaving Salamandastron, and going where you will. And I suppose I cannot prevent you from speaking ill of me to anybeast with the bad sense to hear you out. But one thing I must say to you now, where these good folk can hear me." Urthblood nodded to indicate the two Redwallers, then his cold, penetrating gaze settled upon Clewiston once more. "I cannot impress upon you strongly enough that I will tolerate no interference in what I must do to safeguard the lands as I see fit. I have shown you greater mercy than many of my predecessors would have shown to a declared enemy, Colonel ... certainly more than my brother would have shown my own creatures. Do not make me regret it. My kindness has its limits. If the Long Patrols should ever face me on the field of battle again, I will not allow a single hare of you to leave the contest alive. Do I make myself clear?"

Into the stunned silence that followed, Clewiston said, "Crystal clear. Sir."

Urthblood's massive chair scraped heavily on the stone floor as he pushed it back and stood. "I am sure you will want to get an early start in the morning. I will have your provision sacks from the Abbey refilled, to ease your journey. Good night."

And he strode purposefully from the dining hall.


	16. Chapter 78

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Seventy-Eight

Morning dawned clear and bright and blue over the mountain fortress of Salamandastron. The ever-changing ocean lay almost becalmed, the merest hint of wavewash lapping gently at the western shores and kissing the land with necklaces of foam that dissolved into white spiderweb patterns upon the dark sand. The tranquility of the scene provided a perfect backdrop for a parting of ways.

Urthblood's moles had been up all night, putting the finishing touches on the first of the memorial monuments to be completed. It was the one for the Long Patrols, and the Badger Lord wanted it emplaced while Clewiston was still on paw to witness this bestowing of an honor upon the defeated by their conqueror.

As the first golden rays of morning stabbed over the craggy peaks of the range to wash the coastlands in splendid brilliance, a small group of creatures stood solemnly before the smooth granite obelisk. Foremole had just finished sinking the monument's long base deep into the ground and firming up the sand around the stone column so that it might stand for generations, undisturbed by the elements. One side was broader than the rest, and faced the large mound of the common grave. Using the list of the fallen that Winokur had compiled, Urthblood had had the names of all threescore hares who were buried here neatly engraved into the stoneface. On the opposite side of the column, facing the solitary grave of their commander, was inscribed the single name of Major Safford. No other words adorned the sculpture; the full details of the battle would be recorded elsewhere, and carried in the memory of everybeast who'd survived the carnage.

Their work done, the mole crew trundled back up into the mountain, taking with them their rollers and levers and heavy-lifting pulley crane they'd used to haul the obelisk out here and erect it. Their departure left Colonel Clewiston and Urthblood, Winokur, Alexander and Lady Mina. The hare officer walked completely around the monument, lightly caressing the polished surface and running his paw across the engraved names. Returning to his starting point with the others, he gave a satisfied nod.

"Well, if they couldn't have separate graves, I s'pose this is th' next best thing. A job well done by those mole chaps. Yes ... very fine indeed."

"You're welcome, Colonel," Urthblood said pointedly. Clewiston just as pointedly ignored him.

"Yes, um, er ... Shall we get going, then?" Winokur hefted his provision sack over his shoulder. "It's already a later start than we'd planned on ... "

"Just a moment more," the badger said. "Last night I was approached by one of my own beasts who asked to be discharged from my service, and would like to travel back to Redwall with you, perhaps to live there himself. I truly cannot spare any troops from the defense of Salamandastron, but his case was special, as I'm sure you will agree. I will go up and tell him you are ready to leave. You may finish up your farewells while you wait."

Looking to the hare, Urthblood said, "I will bid you farewell here, Colonel. Since you distrust my every word, I will not even try to convince you of the rightness of my cause. Hopefully, I will be able to prove to you by my actions in the seasons ahead that my words to you were true. The lands need stouthearted defenders like the Long Patrols. It is better that you should lend your services to Redwall than nowhere at all. But if the day should come when you see the error of your ways and are willing to dedicate yourselves to the protection of Salamandastron and the coastlands under my Lordship, you will be welcomed here unconditionally and without question."

Clewiston scowled. "Nice words, from a beast wot was vowin' to slay us all last night."

"That vow too I will honor, if you are foolish enough to make yourselves my enemy again." Urthblood turned to Winokur. The young otter had donned Abbess Mhera's old habit once more, the bloodstains having been washed from it. Saybrook had been right; the garment came out looking almost as good as new after the Northlanders performed their laundering magic on it. "May your journey back to Redwall be safe, swift, and uneventful. Please tell the Abbess that if you good folk should ever need help, I will gladly render whatever assistance I can. I still seek stronger ties between us, and I hope to visit again as soon as I may."

"Don't be in any hurry on our account," Clewiston snorted.

"Er, thank you, My Lord. I'll tell Abbess Vanessa. We'll be expecting you whenever you can make it our way. Our gates are always open to friends and allies."

"Good journeying, then." Urthblood nodded, and strode away up the slope to the south tunnel entrance.

"Friends an' allies, indeed!" Clewiston huffed. "Hope yer Abbess has th' bally good sense not t' call Urthblood either one!"

"We have our share of disagreements with him as well, I assure you," Alex admitted to the hare. "At the very least, we question his methods very strongly. But nothing Winokur or I have seen here would lead us to declare Urthblood an enemy of Redwall. That's something you're just going to have to accept if you want to live at our Abbey. The Abbess has the final say in all matters, and our hospitality is open to all who seek it ... even Urthblood."

"Yes, well, s'pose we could all step out fer a day's outing in th' woods whenever he shows his striped face at th' Abbey," Clewiston mused.

Lady Mina said, somewhat irately, "You could at least have thanked Lord Urthblood for this memorial stone. That was very gracious of him, you know. He didn't have to do it."

Clewiston stubbornly refused to concede her point. "Wot kind o' beast slaughters decent creatures, then honors 'em with a monument?"

"Maybe somebeast who didn't want to kill them in the first place," Alex suggested, and turned to his fellow Redwaller. "So, Wink, do you have any idea who this travelling partner of yours is that Urthblood was talking about?"

Winokur shook his head. "Not a clue. All I know is that I want to be away from this place and back home at Redwall as soon as I can."

"That mouse captain Abellon was pretty popular with everybeast at the Abbey, but I can't imagine Urthblood releasing one of his commanders at a time like this." Alex glanced aside at Mina. "I don't suppose you'd happen to know who it is?"

She shrugged. "It was news to me. I wasn't with Lord Urthblood last night when this happened."

"Well, we'll find out soon enough, I suppose," said Winokur. "I wish you were coming with us, Alex. I'll miss having you along for the journey back to Redwall."

"Oh, I'll be along eventually. But since the Colonel here doesn't completely trust Lord Urthblood to keep his promise about lettin' those hares down in the infirmary go free once they're recovered, I'm sure he'll appreciate having a Redwaller at Salamandastron to watch over them. And there's more to be done here. Figure I'll lend a paw wherever I can, then leave with those hares when they're ready to make the trip to Redwall. Never hurts to have a squirrel along when you're marchin' through the thick of Mossflower."

Winokur gave a smirk. "And you're sure it has nothing to do with having to face the Abbess about you running off after she ordered you not to?"

Alex raised his paws. "Guilty as charged!" he laughed.

Winokur turned to Mina - the real reason, he was secretly sure, that Alexander was lingering behind at Salamandastron. "What about you, M'Lady? Will you be coming to Redwall with Alex?"

"Probably not. I'm sure Lord Urthblood will want me to stay here through the autumn to help get things organized. He lost a lot of officers in the battle; he'll need every experienced creature he can get. Hopefully I can get to Mossflower sometime in the winter - maybe sooner, if all goes well."

Winokur was the first among them to see the addition to their travel party emerge from the tunnel above and come bounding down the slope toward them. The others looked up at Wink's alert. Clewiston's face fell when he saw the creature approaching them. "Sand in me mouth, you gotta be kiddin'!"

Broggen the stoat leapt down from the mountain base and raced across the sand toward them, curving wide to avoid treading upon the Long Patrol burial mound. Stopping before them with a flourish, Broggen gave a half-salute and grinned, his own provision sack bouncing at his back. "Howdy!" he gasped, breathing hard. "'Fraid I might've missed you! Um, Mr. Otter, sir, I was wond'rin' ... "

"Whether you could go to Redwall with us?" Winokur finished for him.

"I am NOT marching with that beast!" Clewiston asserted. Broggen slumped, instantly deflated.

"Um, with all due respect, Colonel," said Winokur, "I'm the official envoy of Redwall here, and if Broggen wants to come with me to the Abbey, I'll certainly welcome him. Now, if you and your hares would have a problem with that, you're always free to take a different road. But this stoat is coming with me."

Broggen's smile returned, if tinged with uncertainty. "Why, I shore am grateful, sir. Me best matey Jans got slayed in th' battle," he held up his right paw, the manacle bracelet still on his wrist, "an' I got nowhere else t' go."

"Yes, we heard about Jans," Alexander said. "We're very sorry. We know how close you two were."

"Oh, thank you kindly," Broggen sniffed. "Much 'preciated."

"So," Winokur asked, "is everything all squared away with Lord Urthblood, as far as you being free to come with us?"

"Oh, yes. Neat 'n' official as y' like. Gave me an hon'rable discharge last night. Truth is, with Jansy gone, I ain't much fer fightin' no more. I just couldn't stay in Lord Urthblood's service, not after what's happened. He unnerstood, an' dismissed me. Now I'm free t' go where I like ... an' I wanna go to Redwall. Don't know if you good folk'll want a beast like me livin' at yer Abbey - "

"They don't!" Clewiston interrupted.

" - but, um ... well ... even if I can't stay there permanent like, I'd still like t' visit fer awhile, just 'til I can get over me hurtin' heart a little."

"Last I heard," Alex said, "there was a weasel living at Redwall, so why not a stoat too?"

Broggen brightened to his former good cheer. Clewiston sputtered and scowled, his ears red with indignant anger. Winokur stared the hare down.

"Now look here, Colonel. Broggen's an honest goodbeast who's lost somebeast dear to him, just as you and I have. He needs the healing of Redwall as much as anybeast, and who are any of us to deny him that? So if you and the Long Patrol want to live at our Abbey, you'll have to learn to get along with all of us - and 'all of us' means whatever creatures the Abbess says can live there. So why don't you give Broggen a big smile and make nice with him, okay? Otherwise, this will be rather an unpleasant journey for us all ... "

Broggen smiled lopsidedly at the Colonel and extended a friendly paw to shake. Clewiston turned away from it.

"You walk on one side o' this young riverdog, since he's th' one insistin' you come along, an' I'll stay on the other. That's the only bally way I'll share this march with you, stoat."

"Well, shore, I c'n do that ... "

"There!" Winokur put his paws on Broggen's and Clewiston's backs. "It's settled, then!"

Alex smiled knowingly at Winokur. "Maybe you'll get to play peacemaker yet, Wink. Even if it's only between one stoat and some hares."

"Well, that's what I came here for, and better late than never, huh?" He took Alexander's paw and shook it warmly. "Hey, I never did thank you properly for saving my life. I wouldn't be here now if you hadn't been so quick an' true with that shaft. I owe you a big one."

Clewiston snorted and turned his back on them, gazing wistfully down upon the lone grave of Major Safford.

"Just make sure Monty has a big, bubbling hot pot of his famous hotroot 'n' shrimp soup waiting for me when I get back, and we'll call it even." Throwing away all hopes for a properly dignified and decorous farewell, Alex hugged the otter to him like they were childhood friends, not adult and youngbeast. Winokur could do no more than return the heartfelt embrace, and cherish it for the moments that it lasted. "You've done a lot of growing up this summer, Wink. More than anybeast your age should have to. Get going to Redwall now, and give everybeast there my regards!"

Winokur stood back, smoothing his habit, and bowed to Lady Mina. "Until we meet again, M'Lady."

"Good journeying to you, my good Winokur, although I think you're going to have your paws full with those hares!"

"I'll just have to manage as best I can!" Gathering his two travel companions, Winokur waved a final goodbye to Alex and Mina as the Colonel headed them south. His free Long Patrols, thirty-five hares now under the command of Traveller, had departed during the night to avoid any treachery Urthblood might have in mind; those had been Clewiston's orders, once it was decided amongst them that they were definitely going to Redwall. The Colonel and Winokur, together with the unexpected tag-along Broggen, would rendezvous with the main group somewhere between the coastal broadstream and the southern end of the mountain range. Sergeant Traughber had agreed to stay behind to look after Saticoy and Baxley, accepting the risk of leaving himself at Urthblood's mercy for the sake of the hares' honor. The Colonel had given Hanchett up for lost, whether to his dire injuries or the badger's judgment. But Clewiston sorely hoped to see the other three again someday, alive and well and free. Leaving them behind had not been an easy thing for him to do, and he prayed he would not regret his decision.

00000000000

Alex and Mina remained at the base of the mountain for some time, looking after the trio of departing beasts until the journeyers became indistinct blobs in the distance, even to their keen squirrel vision. Then at last they turned and headed back up the south mountain face toward the tunnel entrance.

A third of the way up the slope, Mina paused over the grave of Machus. The spot where the swordfox chieftain had fallen was bare mountain rock, with no loose soil or gravel anywhere near it. But Urthblood had decreed that Machus lay where he had sacrificed himself for his Lord, so for two days a team of moles had worked with pick and hammer and chisel, painstakingly chipping out a narrow trench in the living rock until it was big enough to accept the fox's shrouded body. In one of the more macabre aspects to the whole aftermath of the battle for Salamandastron, Urthblood himself had personally sewn Machus's head back onto his body, so that the heroic fox would rest as he had been in life, not in the ungainly and undignified dismemberment of his death. No other warrior in the Badger Lord's service had received such treatment, even though many of the rats, ferrets and stoats had lost limbs or been beheaded by Urthfist.

His body thus laid to rest, Machus had been covered over with a layer of fertile soil from the terraced gardens, and then with the stone flecks and fragments left over from the unearthing of the rocky grave. The burial mound thus ended up looking like a long, low pile of gravel, and it stood out quite prominently from the rest of the mountain slope around it. In time, this solemn resting place would receive a memorial monument or statue of its own, honoring the foremost of Urthblood's fallen commanders. Until then, the grave itself was memorial and marker enough.

Mina's eyes misted as she gazed down upon the final resting place of her fox comrade. "Goodbye, old friend. The Northlands will miss you sorely, and so will I."

"As will Redwall," Alex added somberly. "There will be grieving and sadness at the Abbey when this news reaches them. But we will forever remember and honor the fox who saved one of our own, and taught us that even foxes can be goodhearted beasts ... and friends."

They stood there in respectful silence for a short while longer under the late summer sun, then walked together up into Salamandastron.

00000000000

Four days out from Salamandastron, the procession bound for Redwall crossed paths for the final time with Fitkin the ferry shrew.

Fitkin was less than overjoyed to see the large group of grim-faced Long Patrols heading out of the west toward his toll station, even if they did have an otter and a stoat marching with them. The hares returned his belligerent glare measure for measure; even though this was the first encounter with Fitkin for any of the Colonel's platoon, Traveller and the others had filled in their companions on the rather contentious history between Urthfist and the uncooperative shrew. Fortunately, Winokur was on paw to smooth things over.

Fitkin took the news of Urthblood's victory and Urthfist's death with a satisfied smirk. "Serves that big bully right!"

"Now, I wouldn't say that," Winokur said as he placed himself bodily between Fitkin and some of the hares behind him who showed signs of lunging forward to throttle the unsympathetic shrew. "Urthfist was noble enough to earn the loyalty all of these honorable hares. And chances were he didn't deserve death, no matter what was going on between him and Urthblood. It was a horrible, tragic thing that happened, one Badger Lord slaying his own brother, and so many decent creatures losing their lives. The lands will need a long time to recover from this terrible war."

Fitkin gave Winokur an eyebrows-raised glanced. "Thought you was on Urthblood's side, otter."

"I'm a Redwaller, and Redwall's neutral in all of this. I went to Salamandastron to try to stop this war from happening. Now that it has, these hares are coming with me to Redwall, where they'll be welcome to spend the rest of their days, if they choose. They're with me, so please treat them with courtesy, okay?"

The shrew's gaze went to Broggen. "An' what's the deal with that stoat feller?"

"Another tragic veteran of the battle," Winokur replied. "Lost his best friend. He's coming to live at Redwall too."

"Ha! A vermin like that livin' alongside these hares? I give it half a season if it lasts a day!"

Broggen's smile faded. "Hey, watch who ye're callin' vermin, matey."

Quite unexpectedly, Traveller stepped up beside the stoat. "Yeah! This beast's got more decency in him than you'll ever have! If anybeast 'round here deserves t' be called vermin, it's you, shrew!"

It was hard to say who was the more surprised by this move, Fitkin or Winokur. Some of the animosity the hares held toward Broggen had melted away as they'd gotten to know him a bit over the last few days; the Northlander had shared the tale of how he and Jans had first become a team, and survived many seasons of campaigning together. He'd also related the sad details of how the mouse had taken a Long Patrol spear meant for Broggen during the battle, tearfully lamenting that it was the second time Jans had saved his stoat companion's life, and this time he had willingly sacrificed his own, stepping in front of the hare's spearpoint after Broggen had had his legs knocked out from under him. The stoat's genuine grief must have touched the hares more deeply than Winokur had realized, for he never would have imagined any of the Long Patrols coming to Broggen's defense.

Fitkin merely shrugged. "Whatever."

Clewiston took Winokur aside. "Well, chap, this's where we gotta decide which way t' take: across the broadstream on this nastynose's ferry, or th' long way around through southern Mossflower. Wot do you think?"

"Makes no real difference to me," Wink answered. "The long way, as you call it, would only add a day or two to the journey. So far the weather's been holding out in our favor, with no sign of that changing. It's up to you."

Traveller poked his head into their discussion. "If it's all th' same t' you, Clewey ol' chum, I'd rather not be beholden to this little bossywhiskers even one whit if we can jolly well help it. Wouldn't say he did anything to affect th' way things turned out one way or th' other, but his attitude sticks in my craw. He was rude an' insolent to Lord Urthfist, an' tried to delay us on our return trip. That nastybeast's got no friends here, an' I'd wager th' only way we'd be able t' cross on his ferry now would be to commandeer it, 'cos he's none too likely t' help us of his own accord, whether we paid him or not."

"Paid him?" Clewiston cocked an ear. "Not much in th' way o' supplies 'n' weapons we got wot we could afford t' spare. If this li'l pipsqueak wants payment fer use o' his raft, that decides th' bally matter fer us, doesn't it?"

"An' if he doesn't," Traveller picked up, "I couldn't stomach the idea o' him doin' us any favors. None o' us who were with Lord Urthfist would be able to."

Fitkin cleared his throat to get their attention. "Ahem! So, will you be wantin' my services or not?" he inquired rather brusquely.

"That's wot we're bashin' our bally brainboxes t'gether about right now, chappie," Clewiston called over his shoulder to the shrew.

"Waggin' yer tongues 's more like it," Fitkin said impatiently. "You, otter, I trust you more'n these mean ol' bobtail bullies. I got a propersition fer you."

Winokur leaned forward. "Yes?"

Fitkin rubbed his paws together in front of him. "Since you an' yer stoat buddy were travellin' in Urthblood's company, I'll cut you a break. After all, y' helped get my ferry back an' fix up my tollhouse a bit. So here's what I'll do. I'll give this whole gang o' yers, includin' these hares, one crossin', free o' charge. As a token o' appreciation toward Urthblood, y' unnerstand."

The hares' faces grew stormy and dangerous. "Well, that settles it!" Clewiston bit off. "Wouldn't set foot on yer leaky scraps o' driftwood now even if you paid us to! C'mon, hares! This shrew's insulted us fer th' last time! Let's get outta here, 'fore I lose my lunch!"

Winokur knew he was powerless in the face of the Long Patrols' indignant determination. "Well, guess it's off to the south of Mossflower, and then on to Redwall that way," he shrugged, as he and Broggen fell into step with the hares around Fitkin's hovel.

The shrew leapt atop his timber roof. "Well, if you're gonna be that way 'bout it, you ungrateful flopears, I demand payment fer th' last two crossin's you stole from me! You, Redwaller! Ain't you s'posed t' stand fer what's fair an' right? Well, tell these hares t' gimme my due!"

Clewiston came to an abrupt halt, as did Traveller beside him. Both their faces were clenched with fury. "Give him his due!" the Colonel spat, brandishing his javelin as he spun back toward Fitkin. "I'll give him his due all right!"

Winokur sought to restrain Clewiston. "Hey, now, don't go doing anything we might regret later, huh?"

Clewiston roughly shrugged off Wink's paw on his shoulder and marched right up to the front of Fitkin's abode. The shrew threw himself flat on his roof to provide less of a target for the wrathful hare.

But the Colonel was not going after Fitkin himself. Clewiston gave the support timbers of the partly-rebuilt doorway three powerful kicks. On the third one, the shoring gave way, and the entrance to the hovel collapsed once more.

Clewiston resumed his place at the head of the travel party, and they got underway once again, leaving one very irate ferry shrew behind them. "That wasn't a very nice thing to do, Colonel," Winokur muttered.

Traveller chuckled. "He should count 'imself lucky, that irksome shrew should. At least this time, we didn't seal him inside his home!"

"Yeah," Clewiston grumbled. "If he wants help openin' it back up, he can call on that nice badger Urthblood, since they're such good buddies!"


	17. Chapter 79

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Seventy-Nine

There was no denying that Urthblood had left his lasting mark on Redwall Abbey.

Many days had passed since the last ripples of this conflict between Badger Lords had been felt at the Abbey. With the departure of both Browder and Colonel Clewiston's platoon, the shades of war receded once more from this region of Mossflower, yielding to the bright clear mornings and idyllic afternoons of late summer.

But things would never be the same again. Urthblood had caught Redwall off guard once, much to the embarrassment of the Abbeyfolk, and so much had happened since that Vanessa, Arlyn and the other Redwall leaders were determined to maintain a constant vigilance for the rest of their seasons. Nobeast knew for sure what to make of Urthblood's prophecy now, or what might come of the clash between the two Lords of Salamandastron, but one thing was certain: great and terrible events were at paw, events which might, for better or worse, change the ways of things evermore. For every Smallert, there was a Wolfrum; for every Machus, a Tratton. And the biggest question mark of all, two badgers who might have been fighting each other merely for possession of their mountain fortress, or for the fate of all the lands. Creatures who had long been the enemies of decent goodbeasts were now suddenly friends, while the traditional defenders of the coastlands fought between themselves, each accusing the other of being either evil or insane. None of the Abbey defenders, not even oldsters such as Arlyn, could ever remember such times as these, nor could Geoff recall any mention in the entire history of Redwall of events comparable to those unfolding now. It was impossible to guess whether the next threat to the Abbey's peace and security would be belligerent badgers, hostile hares, searat pirates invading the River Moss in underwater vessels of steel, or some other equally unexpected danger. If there was anything at all to Urthblood's prophecy, Redwall must be ready to stand against foes not even imagined, from any quarter.

There was only one way to prepare for the unknown, and that was to remain ever watchful. The lesson of Urthblood was not lost on the Abbey leaders; walltop sentries must always be posted henceforth to survey the surrounding countryside, all wallgates must remain locked and guarded at all times, and all defenders must be ready for trouble at a moment's notice. While most of the brothers and sisters of the order, along with their mole and hedgehog friends, went about their usual day-to-day business and the Abbey children sang and laughed and played and attended class and generally kept high the spirits of the creatures around them, another, more serious side of Redwall planned and organized and oversaw every detail of the Abbey's defense. Under Elmwood's command, the squirrels of the Mossflower Patrol made longer and more frequent excursions, and travelled in larger groups. Monty's otters spent as much time duelling and sparring as they did playfully gambolling in the pond - and otters did not easily surrender time out of their cherished watersport. Thanks to Urthblood, Redwall now had something resembling a real armory. The sword of Martin was still the uncontested king of their arsenal, but now there were many other fine blades as well, sized to fit woodlander paws. Better javelins for the otters, improved longbows for the squirrels, finely fletched arrows by the bundle, crossbows and bolts, war hammers and battle axes rounded out the stocks Urthblood had bestowed upon them before he'd left to face his brother, an array of weaponry that offered something for everybeast from the smallest fieldmouse up to Maura herself. If war were to come, Redwall was ready for it.

Above and beyond all this, the Abbey had added yet another line of early warning defense that they never had before. The staircase up to Warbeak Loft was still only a dream (Foremole was mulling it over very carefully before committing to its construction), but the current state of affairs had brought the Sparra and the rest of the Redwallers closer together, even without Urthblood's proposed stairs. Taking a cue from the Badger Lord and his use of birds for long-range surveillance, Vanessa had worked out an arrangement with Highwing whereby the sparrowfolk would fly regular reconnaisance flights over Mossflower Woods and far out over the Western Plains, and report immediately to the eloquent Sparra leader if they observed anything unusual. Highwing would then fly down to alert Vanessa and the others, and they would decide whether the matter bore further investigation. In this way, both friendships and defenses were strengthened to a new level.

So it was, one fine afternoon near the end of summer, that a Sparra patrol headed by young Rafter spotted the large group of creatures marching north toward the Abbey along the main road. The procession seemed to consist of roughly twoscore hares. They were still over a day's march from Redwall.

The Sparra scouts started to turn away north, to report this news back to Highwing. But then a sharp caw from Rafter caught them in mid-veer; the young sparrow had spotted two beasts at the head of the column who were not hares.

And Rafter was certain that he recognized one of them.

There was no restraining the reckless youngbird. While the other two held to a slow circling pattern above, Rafter swooped down toward the vanguard of the marchers, cheerily squawking his friend's name in greeting.

"Winkpal! Winokur waterdog!"

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The sharp-eared hares heard Rafter's raucous approach before Winokur did. Thinking they might be under attack, Clewiston and a few of his fellows hefted their weapons menacingly. Then, seeing that it was only one bird, and a small one at that, they relaxed somewhat, keeping their javelins and spears at the ready, should the stranger prove hostile.

The sparrow proved not to be a stranger at all, at least not to the Redwall otter. No sooner had Winokur glanced upward at the commotion than Rafter plopped down onto the dusty path in front of them. "Winkpal comehome!" the bird cried in exuberant joy at the sight of his otter friend. "Yaaaa!"

Winokur rushed forward to embrace the playmate of a younger and more carefree life that seemed much farther than a season away now.

"Rafter, you old featherbag! Am I glad to see you!" Webbed paws and plumaged wings entwined in an unlikely and rather confused hug of greeting.

Battle tension flowed out of the Long Patrols in a wash of relief; they'd known they were getting close to Redwall, and encountering an enemy this near the Abbey would have been a very bad sign indeed.

Clewiston arched an eyebrow at Winokur. "An old acquaintance, wot?"

Winokur's expression was a curiously puzzled half-grin. "Oh, yes. One of Redwall's resident sparrowfolk, and a friend of mine since about forever. But what he's doing so far out from the Abbey I couldn't tell you. The Sparra don't normally range down this far south. Hope there hasn't been any trouble back home."

"Well, let's jolly well find out," the Colonel prompted. "Ask him."

Having finished exchanging their greetings, the sparrow responded to Winokur's questions in the typical rapidfire speech of the Sparra, filling in his old friend on the present situation at Redwall. The young otter was much relieved to hear that all was well there, but the hares had trouble understanding everything Rafter said. By the time he had concluded his staccato report, more than one of the Long Patrols was left scratching its head in bewilderment.

"I think I heard this bird chappie say everything's fine an' dandy back on yer ol' homestead," Clewiston told Winokur, "but these long ears o' mine weren't exactly made fer decipherin' beakspeak. Did I follow 'im right?"

"That you did," Winokur nodded. "It's just that Abbess Vanessa has upgraded security around the Abbey these days, and that includes having our Sparra flying farther afield to spy out the countryside."

"Good sense yer Abbess has," said Clewiston. All during their march from Salamandastron to Redwall, the Colonel had been careful to post watches each night when they made camp and settled down to sleep. He still didn't trust Urthblood not to send an ambush force after them, and the reports of slaver foxes and searats at large in the south of Mossflower did little to quell his urgent sense for constant readiness. As it turned out, the journey had proven almost disappointingly uneventful; they'd met up with neither foes nor the Guosim, although Winokur had been half-hoping to encounter the latter so that the shrews could give Clewiston and his hares further verification of the underwater searat craft.

"So," Clewiston went on, "reckon we proceed as planned, wot?"

"At least we know Redwall will be waiting for us when we get there," Winokur said. "It won't be tonight, though - we'll probably only make it to the ruins of old St. Ninian's by sundown. Noontide tomorrow should see us at the Abbey's gates."

Rafter looked to Broggen, then to the hares, then back to Winokur, a curious gaze in his eyes. "Where Winkdad Warnokur? Where bushtail treeclimberer groundworm Alexander?"

A wistful look crossed the youngbeast's face. "Um, why don't you fly back and tell the Abbess that Alexander's fine, and should be along early next season. I'll relate the full tale of everything that happened at Salamandastron once I arrive at the Abbey."

Rafter flapped away to rejoin his two circling companions, but flew back down again even as the other two sparrows sped northward.

"Abbeytop 'n' Wormfoot go backhome, tell NessieAbbess expect you. Mestay, groundwalk with Winkpal!"

Winokur threw a paw around Rafter's neck as the marchers got underway again. The otter appreciated what a sacrifice the Sparra was making to stay with him; no winged creature would chose the awkward hopping gait for any distance when it could gracefully fly the same stretch in a fraction of the time. The two friends laughed and played as they walked and the splendid summer afternoon wore away around them.

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The marchers spent the night camped in the woods just south of the old burned church ruins. Early the following morning, they finished off the last of their provisions from Salamandastron for breakfast, along with some apples foraged from the surrounding forest. With the well-stocked larders of Redwall half a day to the north, there was no longer any need to ration their supplies. Even the vanquished hares were eagerly looking forward to their first Redwall meal. It remained to be seen whether such meals were to become a part of their daily life henceforth.

They arrived at the Abbey shortly before the noontide to find the main gates standing wide open in welcome and the west ramparts crowded with smiling and waving Redwallers. The sparrows Abbeytop and Wormfoot had relayed Rafter's message that Winokur was returning home. Now all the otter's fellow Abbeybeasts had turned out to make this homecoming a warm and memorable one.

Rafter, quite unaccustomed to being amidst so much attention, went into an impish prancing dance in the road alongside Winokur, kicking up dust with his highstepping talons and flapping wings. The children up on the walltop laughed and cheered this unabashed display, and quite a few of the adults joined in as well.

"Seeyou inside soon, waterdog pal!" Rafter cawed at Winokur. "Talkmore then! Don'tcha getlost!" Taking off, the Sparra shot straight up, looped in a grand head-over-tailfeathers circle, then sailed over the high battlements, returning to the Abbey in true Sparra fashion.

"Hmmph ... guess that featherduster must've gotten tired o' walkin' at last," Clewiston surmised, then looked at Winokur. "Reckon we gotta wait out here 'til the Abbess gives us permission to come inside, wot?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Winokur pointed at the Abbey entrance. "See those gates, Colonel? Standin' wide open, for any friends of Redwall to stroll through if they want ... and I say you're friends, so come on in and make yourselves at home! The Abbess would insist, and so do I!"

"At home, eh? That's wot we're hopin' for, but we'll hafta wait an' see. Gotta tell ya, after some o' wot's happened 'tween us an' Redwall this season, wouldn't be surprised if she's none too happy t' see us."

Winokur waved up at the cheerful Abbeydwellers; many answered with hearty shouts of welcome. "Take a look for yourself, Colonel, and tell me you see one unhappy face up there."

"Well, no ... "

"They look right jolly t' me," Broggen said, quite overwhelmed by the outpouring of good will he was witnessing. "Can't see as this party's got anything t' do with me, tho'. No reason they'd be overjoyed seein' a stoat they hardly knows ... hey, wot's that?" Broggen's eyes searched the walltop, suddenly aware that somebeast was incongruously shouting his name amidst all the cheers for Winokur. The stoat's face lit up when he recognized Cyril and Cyrus, along with Smallert the weasel, hailing him from the battlements with enthusiastic waves and welcoming smiles. Broggen literally jumped for joy in the path opposite the main gate, waving his javelin high over his head.

"Cyril! He actshully remembers me! O happy day! This moment made every step o' th' journey worth it!"

Clewiston scratched between his ears. "Well, blimy! If these folks'll give a welcome like that to a simple stoat, mebbe there's hope for us bobtails after all! Lead on, chappie!"

With Winokur and Broggen at the head of the column, they marched together through the open gates and into Redwall Abbey.

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Vanessa, Arlyn, Geoff, Monty, and Maura received them on the southwest lawn, not far from the main Abbey entrance. Dozens of Abbeydwellers stood in a wide half-circle behind their Abbess, while dozens more streamed down the west wall stairs to flank Winokur, Broggen and the hares of the Long Patrol as they marched across the grounds. Squadrons of Sparra crisscrossed the sky above in a swooping, soaring pageant of welcome, chirping and chittering merrily. It seemed the entire Abbey had turned out for the occasion. In spite of all that had happened at Salamandastron, Winokur and Broggen could not help grinning like idiots at the outpouring of welcome and, for Winokur, at the pure and simple joy of being home again. Many of the hares smiled widely as well; it was just impossible not to.

Vanessa met Winokur with a smile of her own, but hers was tempered by a wistful uncertainty. Nearly half the hares bore the marks of battle, and that they were here at all was most telling. And there were Redwallers not present who should have been.

"Welcome home, Winokur." Vanessa eyed Broggen and the Long Patrols. "I see you've brought some friends along with you."

"Yes, Abbess, and friends they are, in need of a new home themselves. I thought Redwall would fit the bill nicely."

Arlyn's cheerful expression faded to a more somber one. "Tell us what happened, Wink."

"What's to tell? There was a battle. Lots of good creatures got killed. Oh, yes, and Urthblood won, by the way ... which is why all these hares are here, not there. This is all that's left of the Long Patrol, except for a couple of sickbed stragglers who're still back at Salamandastron. They won't serve Urthblood, even though he asked them to. I'll give you all the details after we've had a chance to settle in and get rested up a bit."

"You said many good creatures were killed," Vanessa asked. "We got the message you gave the Sparra last night that Alex is alive and well, but there is another Redwaller who's been on all our minds. Did Warnokur ... " She let her unspoken question trail off.

Winokur squared his jaw bravely. "My father sleeps with the warriors. But I'd be lying under the sand beside him if it weren't for Alexander. He slew the hare who was about to slay me, and gave me the breathing room to get off the field of battle alive. I owe that squirrel my life."

Vanessa stepped forward and tenderly took one of Winokur's paws in her own. "I am so sorry for your loss, Winokur."

"Thank you, Abbess. But there's many who lost far more than I did. The full tale contains more tragedy and loss than I care to think about. You will all want to hear it, I know. And I am bound to tell it, as the one who was there. But I will tell it only once, for it will be too wrenching to repeat. And I don't think the children ought to hear it. So decide when and where this is to be done. In the meantime, we have many weary footpaws and parched throats here that are in need of the best Redwall hospitality you can offer them."

"Do not worry there, they shall have it." Vanessa stepped back and looked Winokur up and down. "I can only imagine what you must have seen, but it is quite clear to me that you are not the same inexperienced young otter who left us earlier this summer. I wish you could have had a few more seasons to enjoy the carefree days of youth before you had to grow up quite so suddenly."

Winokur nodded sadly. "So do I, Abbess."

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Getting bad news out of the way became the order of things that afternoon at the Abbey.

Although Winokur was adamant about putting off his tale until he could tell it before the full gathering of Redwall's adults, there was no way for him and the Long Patrol to hold their silence entirely while they took their rest and drinks upon the Abbey lawns. Thus it was that the slaying of Machus was revealed to the Redwallers.

This news caused great distress. Young Cyrus broke down and wept freely for the fox who'd saved his life. Maura joined him, cradling the mousechild in her embrace as her eyes brimmed with tears; of all the Abbey leaders, the badger matriarch had grown closest to Machus, and grieved for him as she would have for a lifelong friend. The hares were genuinely moved by the fondness with which the swordfox was held by the Abbeydwellers. They hadn't realized the mark Machus had made here, having seen him only as a coldhearted slayer and the treacherous beast whose interference had cost Lord Urthfist his life.

Cyril received a double blow that day. Like Cyrus, he was deeply saddened by the death of Machus, and too distracted by this trauma to dwell upon the question of why his stoat friend Broggen was alone and no longer manacled to the mouse warrior Jans. It was midafternoon before he had the presence of mind to inquire about this. With a long and doleful face, Broggen took the young mouse aside and explained to him what had happened during the battle.

"It's not fair!" Cyril wailed. "Jans was my friend! And I'd only known him such a short time!"

"He was my friend too," Broggen nodded in empathy, "my best one in th' whole entire world. First day after he died, I was too dead in th' head meself to think 'bout anything. The second day, I only wanted to die m'self - Jansy an' me had been together so many seasons, I couldn't picture goin' on without him. But then, on the third day, well I opened my eyes an' looked around an' saw there was a whole lotta good creatures hurtin' just as bad as I was. Lotsa beasts lost friends in that battle ... on both sides. Those hares are mighty decent creatures, got to know 'em a bit along th' way here, an' they're just as grieved by havin' pals slain as anybeast. Point is, I realized I hadta go on livin' even tho' Jansy was gone. I knew my days as a warrior were through, an' I knew I needed friends t' help me get over my sorrow, an' that's when I thought o' you, Cyril lad. You're just about the only beast I can call a real friend. I remembered how nice 'n' friendly it was at yer Abbey, an' I knew I just hadta come here. I know ye're sad 'bout Jansy. But mebbe if you 'n' me stick by each other, losin' him won't be so hard t' bear. Whaddya say, Cyril?"

The young mouse wiped his eyes on his habit sleeve. "Sure, I guess. You can count on me, Broggen. I won't let you down. I'll be here for you."

The stoat gave Cyril an encouraging smile. "What I'd really like is t' settle down here, an' spend th' rest o' me days as a peaceful beast, doin' wotever it is you Redwallers do. My spirit needs soothin' after th' terrible things I seen, an' this's th' place fer that. I'd dearly love t' stay on, if yer Abbess could see fit t' overlook me bein' a stoat an' give me permission t' dwell here, permanent-like."

"Why, of course she will!" Cyril proclaimed with confidence. "You're a goodbeast in need of a home. She'd never turn you away!"

"Well, she might." Broggen looked down at his feet self-consciously. "I mean, you here at Redwall have kinda a bad history with vermin, or so I heard. Not that I'm like those that've given you trouble in th' past, but, well, I could unnerstand full well if they don't trust a beast o' my kind. But as long as I c'n stay fer a few days at least, that'd still be a big boon t' my poor soul. Anything longer'd be a mighty nice bonus."

"Don't be silly!" Cyril said. "You're staying, and that's all there is to it! I'll tell the Abbess she's gotta let you stay. It'll all work out, you'll see!"

Taking the much larger creature by the paw, Cyril pulled Broggen across the lawns to where Abbess Vanessa sat with the hares and the other Abbey leaders. The young mouse had lost one new friend; he was determined to gain another. Besides, if Cyrus could have a weasel, why couldn't Cyril have a stoat?


	18. Chapter 80

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Eighty

Noontide came and went without the tolling of the Matthias and Methuselah bells or the serving of lunch. Emotions were running too high for anybeast to have much of an appetite - at least among the adults. But as the afternoon slipped toward teatime, the Abbey children sent up an insistent chorus that their bellies be kept properly full.

Vanessa decided to solve two problems at a stroke. Since Winokur had made it plain that he would only tell his tale once, and then only to the grown-ups, Vanessa had Friar Hugh and Balla bring up a repast of various sweet breads and cordials for the young ones to take out on the sunny grounds. While they feasted up here, the adults would gather down in Cavern Hole to hear Winokur recount the saga of his travels and the battle of Salamandastron.

Maura took Vanessa aside as she announced these plans. "I really want to be there to hear what Winokur has to say," the badger told the Abbess, "but then who's to look after the children?"

"Harrumph!" Traveller loudly cleared his throat as he stuck his head toward them. "Excuse me, ma'ams, but if you'd have no objections, we could watch over th' little tykes fer you. None o' us who lived through that battle needs t' hear it told all over again. It'd give us something t' do while you're all gettin' brought up to speed. Make us feel useful, an' all that."

"He's right, Abbess," Colonel Clewiston seconded. "I don't think any of the Long Patrols need t' be down there t' hear Winokur's story. Those of us who weren't there t' see the battle itself got to hear all 'bout it during our march here from Salamandastron. We'd be more'n happy t' lend a paw with your young ones. Besides, if we're gonna be living here from now on, we gotta start earnin' our keep, wot?"

"Whether you are to become permanent residents of our Abbey remains to be seen." Vanessa turned to Maura. 'What do you think, Maura? Should we let these hares do a little babysitting for the next few hours?"

Maura sternly regarded Traveller and the Colonel. "I don't like it, Vanessa. Leaving our precious babes in the care of strangers who've caused us so much trouble this season ... "

Winokur stood nearby. "Excuse me, Mother Abbess, Mother Maura, but might not my opinion be of value in this matter? I can't think of these hares as strangers, having marched with them these past ten days ... and what trouble have they caused Redwall, really?"

Vanessa scanned the expectant faces of the hares around her. Many of those gazes returning hers were hooded, almost haunted. Yes, she could easily enough believe that they wouldn't care to relive their defeat any more than they had to; they'd be doing that enough in their nightmares for the rest of their lives, she was sure. But nowhere could she detect the slightest spark of malice or evil intent in any of those eyes. These were beasts with bruised souls, in need of the kind of healing for their spirits that only Redwall could provide.

Looking to Winokur, she asked, "Do you trust them?"

"Abbess, I would trust these hares with my very life, and the life of every Redwaller I hold dear. They are terrible foes to face in battle, but if they're on your side, there's nobeast you'd rather have as a friend or ally. I have heard them speak of making their life's mission the protection of Redwall, now that they can no longer dwell at Salamandastron, and I've no doubt that they would lay down their their lives for the sake of our Abbey. And if you can't trust somebeast like that to look after the young ones for a spell, who can you trust?"

"Well, then, that's good enough for me." Vanessa turned back to Clewiston and Traveller. "The job's yours. Think of this as your first probationary duties here. If it turns out well, then we'll see about finding more permanent tasks for you."

From the edge of the conversation, Broggen leaned forward with his paw waving. "Um, Abbess, ma'am? Could I stay up here with th' little ones too? Lost me best mate Jansy in that battle, an' I'd like t' get it outta me mind much as I can."

Maura's entire coat rippled in bristling agitation at this prospect. "A stoat, helping to care for our children! The hares I can live with, Vanessa. But this would be going too far! You can't allow it!"

Cyril was quick to speak up in defense of his new friend. "Broggen's a goodbeast, Abbess! He wouldn't cause any trouble! I promise!"

"You promise, hmm? Then you'd better stay up here with him. I'm sure Broggen would appreciate your company."

"Oh, yes, that I surely would!" the stoat eagerly agreed.

Cyril was crestfallen; he'd wanted to be down in Cavern Hole to hear Winokur's story. Guessing what was the matter, the otter stepped over to him and ruffled the young mouse's head fur affectionately.

"Don't you worry about missing out on anything, Cyr. I'll tell you whatever you want to know some other time. A special favor for you and Cyrus, since I know you had a special bond with Machus."

"You want Broggen to be able to live here, don't you, Cyril?" said Vanessa. "Let's see how he does with this. I'm not going to decide one way or the other what his fate will be until I've had a chance to speak with him more fully. For now, you and Broggen stay up here and enjoy this beautiful day."

"Um, yes, Mother Abbess."

Maura yanked Winokur close to her. "You marched with this stoat too. Are you sure he's not a danger to our youngsters?"

"Just ask these hares, if my judgment's not trustworthy enough for you."

"The mouselad was right; this stoat's a decent chap, hard as that is to believe," Clewiston affirmed. "But, not t' worry yer striped head, ma'am - we'll keep a close eye on th' blighter, jus' t' make sure he don't step outta line."

"I'm so relieved," Maura said without conviction.

Shortly thereafter, enough food and drink had been set out on the lawn tables to keep the all Abbey youngsters - and their stoat and hare keepers - satisfied until evening. Maura accompanied Vanessa and Arlyn down to Cavern Hole, still shaking her head with misgiving.

"I still don't know about that stoat, Nessa," she muttered unhappily. "How can we trust a creature like that?"

"It seems to me," Arlyn smiled, "that you said much the same thing earlier this season about a certain fox ... a fox whose death you were crying over today, as were we all."

"And let's not forget about Smallert," Vanessa reminded her badger friend. "He's more than proven his decency in the time he's dwelt here at Redwall."

Maura started to speak, then closed her mouth and nodded. "You're right, both of you. Winokur and Cyril and those hares all vouch for Broggen, so I'll give him the benefit of the doubt until I've gotten to know him better. I'm just overly protective when it comes to our children."

"Of course you are." Vanessa patted Maura on her lower back. "And don't you ever dare stop being that way!"

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Trays of honey and butterscotch scones and pitchers of cool mint tea and cider were circulated through Cavern Hole as Winokur told the tale of his adventures. The big table was pushed back against one wall so that the young otter could use it as a stage of sorts, sitting upon it crosslegged while all the other Redwallers sat or stood around it in a huge semicircle that nearly filled the spacious underground chamber. Winokur was somewhat self-conscious at being the center of so much attention, but he genuinely felt this was something that needed to be done, and after everything he had been through, a few pangs of stage fright were quite easy to overcome.

The telling of the tale took until nearly sundown. Much of it the Abbeydwellers had already been able to piece together or figure out for themselves, from the reports they'd gotten from the shrews Flink and Gloor, and from Colonel Clewiston during his first brief visit. Still, it was fascinating to hear the underwater searat craft described in detail by a creature who'd actually been inside it and examined it closely in the water from the outside. And Winokur was able to relate the nighttime invasion and conquest of Salamandastron far more fully than Clewiston's hares could have. As for the battle itself, this day was the first time that the good folk of Redwall had learned of it, and Wink spared no detail in what he had witnessed from the tunnel mouth that gruesome afternoon, and the tragic aftermath of the fighting. When it came time to tell of his own father's death, Winokur nearly broke in his resolve to tell the whole tale, but he forced himself to go on.

"I wish Alexander were here to tell this part," the otter prefaced, voice thick with emotion. "He played a vital part in my father's final moments, and had just as good a view of those events as I did. They were nearly my final moments as well, and I have him to thank for my very life, so I will tell you about Warnokur. To leave out that incident would not honor either of them as they deserve to be honored."

Many more tears were shed, not only for those creatures slain whom the Abbeyfolk knew, but for the sheer scope of the loss of life on both sides. Never had a tale such as this been told at Redwall, and the peaceful woodlanders were aghast at the violence described to them.

After Winokur concluded, Vanessa said, "Well, when I heard from the Sparra yesterday that only one of our otters was returning, I had to decide whether to prepare a homecoming feast, or wait to find out what had happened. I am glad now that I opted not to prepare any festivities. This is not a time for revelry. Let us instead dedicate the next few days to remembering fond friends and family who are now gone from this world: Warnokur, and Machus, and Jans, and all the others who fell, even those whose names we never learned. A tale such as the one we have just heard is not something that encourages celebration. We will have our feast, for Winokur's safe return, in good time. But not today."

Turning to Wink, she said, "Tomorrow is the last day of summer. The day after that, we may have our Nameday celebration for the new season, or we can postpone it until later in the autumn. I will leave it up to you."

"I didn't realize it was so late in the season," Winokur said. "You kind of lose track of the days, marching across the lands. But as for when to hold our next celebration, I don't even have to think about it, Abbess. Alexander saved my life, and I wouldn't feel right having any kind of festival until he's back here safe and sound. I say we wait for him ... and then let's have a feast like there's never been at Redwall before!"

All the Abbeydwellers lifted their drinking vessels and cheered heartily at Winokur's proposal, voting their approval of the idea with a unanimous chorus of support.

"Then it's agreed!" Vanessa nodded. "We'll wait for Alexander. By then, we should have gotten the worst of all this behind us. And we should also know by that time whether all our new friends up on the lawns are to become permanent members of our community. We might just be able to make it a Nameday, a homecoming and a welcoming feast all in one!"

More cheers rang out, filling Cavern Hole with a good-natured din that lifted the spirits of everybeast there.

Winokur leaned forward so Vanessa could hear him through the racket. "You said we could have had our Nameday feast the day after tomorrow if I'd chosen to. You must already have a name for the new season all picked out, huh?"

Vanessa smiled secretively. "Oh, I have some ideas."

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When the gathering finally broke up and the adults ascended to the Abbey grounds from Cavern Hole, they found all of Redwall's young ones alive and well and cavorting merrily in the ruddy glow of the approaching dusk. The hares of the Long Patrol had thrown decorum to the wind and were romping about like children themselves, skipping and dancing and playfully wrestling with the very creatures they were supposed to be supervising. Vanessa and Maura came across Colonel Clewiston down on all fours, giving young Droge a ride on his back.

Vanessa had to stifle a giggle with her paw. "Remind me again, Maura, which ones here are the adults and which are the children?"

The Colonel gently spilled the rambunctious young hedgehog onto the grass and straightened to his feet, struggling to reassemble some semblance of dignity before the Abbess. "Oh, um, er ... hullo there!"

"Hey!" Droge yelled indignantly from the lawn. "I wasn't finished with my ride!"

Vanessa put on a face of mock sternness. "Colonel! I hope you have a very good explanation for all of this!"

"We were challenged, ma'am," he explained with stiff formality. "An' we Long Patrols never turn away from a challenge!"

"Challenged?" Maura asked, smiling slyly.

"That we were, ma'am. These li'l rapscallions o' yers didn't think we could keep 'em properly entertained. So we had t' show 'em. Couldn't let 'em one-up their elders, wot?"

Vanessa and Maura could no longer contain themselves. They burst out laughing in gales, even as the Colonel strove to look formally officer-like with a hedgehog child tugging at his sleeve, pestering Clewiston for another horsy ride. Melanie wandered by them then, carrying Cuffy the dormouse on her shoulders. It was hard to tell which of them was having a better time.

"Supper ready yet?" the female hare inquired. "Gettin' some hungry pups out here, Abbess. Can't expect t' keep 'em satisfied with sweet breads 'n' fizzydrink forever, good as it is!"

"My word!" Maura exclaimed. "One would think you hares had never seen children before!"

A wistful light came to Melanie's eyes. "Ever since Urthblood's prophecy, Salamandastron's been no place fer innocent youngbeasts. Been quite a while since children's laughter was last heard there. My youngest, Mizagelle, was the last harebabe born there, an' that was, oh, more'n fifteen seasons ago." She tickled one of the dormouse's dangling footpaws, causing Cuffy to squeal and squirm delightedly. "I'd forgotten how much fun it could be."

Colonel Clewiston had engaged Droge in a one-pawed play boxing match, diverting the hedgehog child with playful jabs that missed or came up short everytime. "It could also be said, ma'am, that one would think your youngsters have never seen hares before this season."

"Well, most of them hadn't," said Vanessa, wiping away the tears of her laughter. "It has been many, many seasons since any hare last lived at Redwall. So, hares are something of a novelty to them, I suppose."

The Colonel and the Abbess shared a long, wordless glance between them. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Colonel?" she asked at last.

"That it was meant to happen this way? That we were meant to be here, maybe even at this exact moment, havin' this conversation together?"

"It does seem that way, doesn't it? Maybe there is something to fate and destiny after all."

"Mebbe. But I gotta say, even with all I've lost an' all th' sadness that's inside me, at this moment I feel content. Almost happy."

"Me, too," Melanie said softly.

"Redwall has a way of doing that to beasts," said Vanessa.

Traveller came rolling across the lawns toward them, with Padgett the mole chasing gleefully after him. The molebabe caught up with the old hare and began yanking hard at his ears with both tiny digging claws.

"I say, that looks rather painful," Maura commented.

Traveller beamed up at them. "After wot I been through, ma'am, this's bliss! Sheer - ow! - bliss!"


	19. Chapter 81

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Eighty-One

There came a knock on the closed door of the Abbess's study.

"Come in," Vanessa called out.

The door opened partway, and Broggen stuck his head into the room. "Um, you wanted to see me, ma'am?"

"Indeed I do. Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable."

The stoat closed the door again behind him and did as he was bade. Old Abbot Arlyn occupied one of the two highbacked cushioned chairs in front of the Abbess's desk, so Broggen took the other. Vanessa stood behind her desk, with Colonel Clewiston at her side.

"Good morning, Broggen," Vanessa nodded with a smile. "I trust you had a good breakfast?"

"Oh, absolutely scrumptious, ma'am. Don't reckon you Redwallers could make a bad meal if'n you tried."

"Yes, Friar Hugh does take pride in his work. I must apologize to both you and the Colonel for making all of you sleep outside last night, but we simply don't have enough rooms or beds for so many of you at the moment - a situation we're working hard to rectify as quickly as we may."

Clewiston waved a paw. "Think nothing of it, Abbess. We Long Patrols are used to roughing it. An' after that workout yer little ones gave us yesterday, we were tired enough that we could've dozed soundly on sharp rocks."

"Yeah," Broggen added, "an' yer grass is nice 'n' cozy. T'was asleep meself 'fore I knew it."

"Fine, fine." Vanessa looked at the Northlander. "Broggen, you have requested that you be allowed to live at Redwall from now on. As Abbess, I must decide whether to honor your request. I thought it would be a good idea for us to talk for awhile, so I can get to know you better."

"Makes sense," Broggen acknowledged.

"You certainly have an ardent supporter in young Cyril, and Winokur speaks well of you also, but I must be satisfied for myself that you will be a suitable addition to our family. Now, I must tell you that certain species have never found a place here at our Abbey. We currently have a weasel living with us, but we extended our protection to him because he would have been slain otherwise. So far it seems to be working out all right with Smallert, and so long as he does nothing to violate our few rules, he is welcome to dwell here for the rest of his seasons. You will be, too, but before I can accept you into our community, I must be assured that you know what it means to be a Redwaller."

Vanessa hesitated. Clearly she had more to say, but she had to pause to choose her words.

"You see, beasts like weasels and stoats - or rats and foxes, for that matter - have never really had much desire to join us. Traditionally, those creatures have been our enemies, and when they took any interest in our Abbey at all, it was to conquer us. I realize you yourself are no enemy of Redwall, but you are a stoat nevertheless, and we must be absolutely sure that your nature or upbringing will not cause us any trouble if you are to live among us. This may not seem fair, and perhaps it isn't. We ought to judge you solely as an individual, since you had no control over the type of creature you were born being. But we cannot ignore the past, or the troubles your species have caused us throughout our history. Therefore, I am going to question you more closely than I normally would a beast asking to live at Redwall. Is this all right with you?"

Broggen was silent a moment. Then he said, "Ma'am, if it means I get t' be a Redwaller, I'll answer questions standin' on me head!"

Vanessa chuckled. "That would be going a bit farther than I had in mind. But let's start by having you tell us why you want to live here, and what being a Redwaller means to you."

"Nowhere else fer me t' go, ma'am. I couldn't keep on in Lord Urthblood's army no more, not after what happened. You folk treated me good first time I was here, an' I made an honest-to-goodness friend in Cyril. That mouse lad's gonna miss Jansy somethin' awful, jus' like I am, an' I figger mebbe if I could stay here, it'd help us both put th' bad behind us an' get on with things."

Vanessa nodded. "Go on."

"Well, as fer what it means t' be a Redwaller, I s'pose it ain't that much diff'rent from bein' a villager beast up in th' north. I got to visit lotsa villages durin' Urthblood's campaigns there, an' I saw how decent folk live honest lives - mums 'n' dads raisin' their young, farmers tendin' crops, skilled craftsbeasts practicin' their trade in makin' an' buildin' an' fixin' things, an' all of 'em pullin' t'gether in times o' trouble to defend what's theirs. Used to think what a shame it was that I'd never be able t' lead a life like that fer m'self, bein' a simple stoat with no talent but a quick paw with me javelin. But after spendin' those few days here this season, I got t' thinkin', why not? Even 'fore Jansy got slayed, I'd started wond'rin' whether I might not be able t' quit the fightin' life an' come back here, mebbe build a small cabin fer meself somewhere in nearby Mossflower if I couldn't live in the Abbey itself. After Jansy was killed, well ... " Broggen wiped away a tear, "wasn't anything else for it, y' know? So, here I am."

Arlyn picked up the questioning from the Abbess. "If we did allow you to live here, what would you do? Everybeast here has a job, or an appointed set of tasks. What do you envision yours would be?"

"Well, like I said, my only real skill's with me javelin. Guess I could be one o' yer Abbey defenders."

"Redwall's already got all the defenders it jolly well needs," the Colonel said from along side Vanessa, his tone a touch huffy. "An' that'll be doubly true with us Long Patrols stayin' on."

Broggen glanced at Clewiston, then back at Vanessa. "They're definitely stayin', then?"

"They haven't given us any cause to make them leave," Vanessa said.

The stoat set his jaw. "Well, then, I won't neither!"

"I believe you honestly mean that, Broggen." Vanessa clasped her paws in front of her. "If you've really got your heart set on staying, we'll find something for you to do, so don't worry about that. My main concern is that you'll be able to follow our rules and respect our way of life. It might take you some getting used to."

"You mean th' stuff like bein' courteous an' respectful to all my fellow creatures, an' always doin' like you say, an' bein' honest 'n' never tellin' lies, an' helpin' anybeast who needs help, an' never harmin' nobeast 'cept in defense, an' all that?"

"Well ... yes," Vanessa said, somewhat surprised. "That sums up many of our rules quite nicely. How did you know all of that?"

"Cyril told it to me last night," the stoat replied. "Yer rules ain't anything new t' me; Lord Urthblood had most all o' those, an' lots more besides. An' in his army, a beast could get itself dead disobeyin' them. Livin' here will be a cinch after marchin' about with him fer a dozen seasons an' then some."

"Well." Vanessa looked to Clewiston. "You've gotten to know Broggen a bit better than we have, Colonel. Can you name any objections to his living at Redwall that we might have overlooked?"

"Yah." Clewiston wrinkled his whiskers. "He snores like a badger."

Vanessa smirked. "Broggen and the Long Patrols fought on opposing side in the battle just past. Will this be a problem if it should turn out that you will both be living at this Abbey?"

Broggen answered before the Colonel could. "If they don't got any problem with me, ma'am, I don't got any with 'em."

"Colonel?"

Clewiston sighed. "Wot he said."

"Then we'll leave it like this," Vanessa said with finality. "Broggen, you may stay here as our guest at least until Alexander arrives, and then you will be welcome to join us at our Nameday feast. By then, we'll have had a good long look at you, and we'll know whether you may dwell here permanently. In the meantime, I may assign you some minor tasks for you to try your paw at, if that would be agreeable to you, and you can see what suits you best."

"Yes, ma'am. I'd like that very much, thank you."

"Very well. For now, why don't you run along and enjoy this fine morning? I still have some other matters to discuss with the Colonel. I'll catch up with you later. If you'll please excuse us ... "

Broggen stood and showed himself to the door. "Thank you, Abbess. Thank you." He left the study smiling like a creature who'd found itself a new home. And perhaps he had.

00000000000

After Broggen was gone, Vanessa motioned for Colonel Clewiston to take the empty wing chair for himself. The hare commander settled into the vacant seat alongside Abbot Arlyn's.

"Your answer to my earlier question was less than enthusiastic," Vanessa said to him, "so I'll ask it again: do you foresee any difficulties with the Long Patrol living with a weasel and a stoat as members of our Redwall community?"

"So, you think you'll be keepin' Broggen on, then?"

"It's not polite to answer one question with another, Colonel, but I'll indulge you. I haven't made up my mind about Broggen yet, but Smallert is quite another matter. He has been very helpful with the various chores and duties he's been assigned, he is properly respectful in observing our ways and rules, and he is very popular with our children. Smallert has a death sentence on his head if he leaves the protection of Redwall. That weasel will be staying here no matter what. If you and your hares are to dwell here, you will be expected to treat Smallert with the same courtesy you would extend to any Redwaller. And Broggen, too, if we accept him into our family as well. Can you assure me of this, Colonel?"

Clewiston stroked his whiskers in his best military manner. "Abbess, we are honorable hares and beasts of our word. I tell you now, if we are granted permission to live at Redwall, we will of course abide by your every law an' follow yer wishes to th' letter, as well as keep on conformin' to our own high standards of conduct. Anybeast you say is fit t' be a Redwaller is okay by us. You'll get no hassle or worry from these hares, ma'am. That I can promise you."

"That's fine, as far as creatures living at this Abbey are concerned - " the Abbess seated herself behind her desk, " - but that is not the only consideration at paw regarding your behavior. There is also the matter of Lord Urthblood, and the beasts in his service. I must know that you will have no problem with them either."

Clewiston stiffened in his chair, his ears tilting back as if caught by some unfelt breeze. The Colonel could not altogether surpress the slight bristling of his fur around his finer edges, even in the presence of Redwall's Abbess.

"Ma'am, I consider that badger my mortal enemy. An' I'm sure you will too, in time, if Lord Urthfist was right about him."

"Yes, but could you politely share a dinner table with him?"

"This is nothing t' make jokes about, Abbess!"

"I'm not," Vanessa said, her manner most serious. "From what Winokur has told us, we may expect more visits from Urthblood in the future. He is the Lord of Salamandastron now, and the protector of the coastlands, whether we approve or not. He has expressed a desire to strengthen ties between Redwall and Salamandastron. While we find fault with some of the tactics he used in his conflict with his brother, we cannot consider him an enemy ... not with so many goodbeasts in his service, and not with a threat like Tratton out there. We will not turn him away if he shows up at our gate in the seasons ahead. The hospitality of Redwall will be extended to him. If you are to become Redwallers, you will be expected not to offer any insult or affront to him while he is a guest in our home. And you are certainly not to pick a fight with him!"

"Abbess, you ask too much!"

"I don't think so."

"An' wot if he brings war to Redwall?"

"Then you will be expected to stand and fight alongside us. We have never been timid about defending our home, and our way of life. If Urthblood harbors designs against us, I think he will find Redwall a tough conquest to swallow. Indeed, we would make sure that it stuck in his throat and choked him. But we will not provoke a fight. Unless Urthblood declares himself our enemy through word or deed, we will not treat him as such. And neither will you, if you wish to live as one of us."

Now the hare's ears drooped forward. "It's wot he does without declarin' himself that worries me," Clewiston said morosely. "Take th' way he captured Salamandastron, sneakin' in in th' dead o' night an' puttin' us all t' sleep. S'pose he tries something like that here at Redwall?"

"Urthblood himself has done much to improve our defenses and our readiness. I hardly think he'd have done that, Colonel, if he was planning on attacking us."

"Then wot about th' way he dressed up his vermin in weapons an' shields from th' Badger Lords' treasure, all so it'd goad Lord Urthfist inta chargin' the lines like he did? Can you honestly say you'd trust anybeast who'd resort to such underpawed cunning?"

"We don't know for sure what was in Urthblood's mind when he did that," said Vanessa. "His argument, that he was simply trying to provide his front lines with the best weapons he could give them, does carry some weight."

"Fat lot o' good it did 'em!" Clewiston snorted.

"Winokur told us about the battle," Vanessa nodded. "He said it may have happened as you maintain - or it may not have. The only thing we know for sure was that Urthfist charged Urthblood's positions and struck the first blow - the first dozen blows, by some accounts - and that was what started the battle. If Urthblood sought to bait his brother into charging, then Urthfist was foolish to let his rage get the best of him."

"Not much choice left to him, Abbess. When a badger gets inta th' throes of the Bloodwrath, that beast forgets all reason. That's wot His Bloodiness was countin' on, you can bet on it."

"We'll never know for certain, will we? But we Redwallers do not succumb to any Bloodwrath. If war comes our way, we will pick our moments, and not yield to senseless rage."

"So mebbe that trick wouldn't work on you folks," Clewiston admitted. "Wot scares me is that Urthblood never likes t' use th' same one twice ... an' he's got more up his sleeve, likely includin' some that nobeast's ever seen before."

"Or maybe he'll use them against Tratton's searats," Abbot Arlyn countered. "You could be wrong about Urthblood, and Urthfist may have been too. We're not prepared to antagonize an ally, least of all the rightful Lord of Salamandastron. We are not deaf to your warnings, Colonel, and will bear them in mind at all times when dealing with Lord Urthblood. But I for one will have to see more before I will call him my enemy. I will treat him with courtesy and respect if he visits us again in peace and good will .. as will you, or else the Long Patrol will have to find someplace else to call home."

Clewiston pulled at his lip. "T'won't be easy, 'specially fer th' lads 'n' lasses who were through th' battle. But if it's part o' wot we hafta do to stay at Redwall, I guess we can do it. I think it's better that we be on paw fer when you'll need us, even if that means havin' to make nice with that bloody beast a few days outta each season. We won't give him any guff long as he doesn't threaten this Abbey, but if we get one inkling that his intentions toward you folk are anything less than friendly, then that'll be a different kettle o' fish. Just so we understand each other."

"Completely, Colonel," said Vanessa. "And I can assure you, if Urthblood ever moves against Redwall, you hares won't be standing against him alone. But our main quarrel with him is that he used Redwall to his own advantage in his conflict with Urthfist. And now that he has captured the prize he sought, I have a feeling his immediate concern will be Salamandastron and the coastlands, and that might keep him so busy that it could be seasons before we see him here again. That will give you plenty of time to get your hares settled in before we have to confront any of these questions. Then we'll be able to present a united front to Urthblood when he finally comes here, with the Long Patrols as an accepted and fully integrated part of Redwall. Um, by the way, Colonel, do you know whether you'd continue to call yourselves the Long Patrol?"

Clewiston mulled it over. "May's well," he replied at length, his gaze suddenly far away. "It's who we are, wot?"


	20. Chapter 82

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Eighty-Two

The first day of autumn came and went. True to her word, Vanessa refused to allow any celebration to be held without Alex. Friar Hugh and his staff helped usher in the new season with a spread of food and drink that was a notch above the usual, giving the Long Patrols their first taste of what Redwall's kitchens could produce given a full day's preparation, but the real feast would have to wait until Alexander's return. As for what name this autumn would bear, Vanessa would only smile knowingly when asked and say that she had "some ideas."

A dozen days passed, and then a dozen more, but Alex did not appear. Autumn took full hold of Mossflower country, turning the green forest canopy into a blazing riot of colors ranging from yellows so bright they were almost white to reds and oranges like leafy fire. Days grew shorter, the nights chillier, the sun lower until much of the Abbey grounds remained in shadow for the greater part of each day. The full bounty of the growing season was harvested: fruit from the orchard, berries and vegetables and spices from the gardens, and grain crops too. Balla set about her yearly task of brewing a new batch of October ale to last the Abbey through the coming seasons. Every creature at Redwall was kept busy; there was much to do to prepare for the coming of winter.

Foremole and his crew were largely excused from these chores. They were engaged in a far more ambitious endeavor: the construction of new quarters for the Long Patrols. Even if they'd been given every guest room and the Infirmary as well, there would still not have been enough beds for all the hares. The easiest solution, it was decided, would be for the moles to tunnel out side chambers in part of the Abbey's underground network that had first been excavated during General Ironbeak's siege of an earlier generation. The hares had no objections at all to the idea of being quartered underground; indeed, they'd lived all their lives inside a mountain, so relocating to a new system of burrows would make them feel right at home.

As it turned out, this project entailed far more work than had originally been envisioned, for in order to be properly constructed, each new sleeping chamber would need to be lined with stone. And there was not enough spare stone at Redwall for a job of this size. Eventually it was agreed that an expedition would have to be mounted to the old quarry on the other side of the River Moss, where the red sandstone to build the Abbey had originally come from, so that more could be mined to line the new lower level. It all ended up taking many days, from the construction of a new cart to haul the stone from quarry to Abbey, to the clearing of a path to the river wide enough to accommodate the vehicle, to the building of a log barge large enough to ferry a score of beasts or a heavy load of rock across the Moss, to the actual mining itself. Every hare lent its muscle to the task, as did Smallert, Broggen, and most of the otters and squirrels. The Abbey's carpenter mice, having finished the cart, set themselves to the fashioning of twoscore new beds for the Long Patrols.

By mid-autumn it was done. The hares had their new home, symbolizing their full acceptance into the community of Redwall. Broggen too had won his place at the Abbey; the guest room that he shared with Smallert had become a permanent arrangement for both weasel and stoat, and there was no longer any question of denying him permission to live here. With everybeast's help, but Cyril's most of all, Broggen slowly recovered from the death of Jans and lost his sad-eyed, haunted look. The same was true for the Long Patrols, and for Winokur. Slowly but surely, this newly enlarged family of Redwall was healing from its wounds and putting the summer's tragedies behind them in order to look forward to better times.

Only one thing was missing. Half the season was gone, but still there was no sign of Alexander, nor any word at all from the coastlands.

One day Vanessa found Colonel Clewiston standing up on the west wall over the main gate, staring forlornly across the Western Plains in the direction of Salamandastron. Ascending the wall stairs, she joined the hare at his side. "An acorn for your thoughts, Colonel."

He didn't turn to look at her, but continued to gaze across the rolling Plains, their green hues now turning to golden brown with the approach of winter.

"Something's gone wrong, ma'am," Clewiston said. "Urthblood told us our three wounded comrades would be able to leave 'round the first of the season. Even if they're takin' it slow on account o' their injuries, they still should've gotten here long before now. That beast must've changed his mind an' gone back on his word, if he ever meant t' keep it at all. Shouldn't wonder if he's had 'em slain. An' yer squirrel friend too, much as I hate t' say it."

"We don't know that, Colonel. They could have been delayed by something along the coast, or in southern Mossflower. I'm more worried about Tratton than anything else. By your own description, that rat king had enough forces at your doorstep to fight a terrible war, and perhaps to win. Do you think Tratton might have reconsidered, and gone back to Salamandastron to try to capture it?"

"I still got suspicions that Tratton an' Urthblood are in cahoots somehow, Abbess. If Tratton enters Salamandastron, it'll be because that badger invites him on in."

"And I think you're wrong," Vanessa argued. "I think the creatures in Urthblood's service would fight before they'd cooperate with searats or let them into Salamandastron. I am concerned that Alex might be sitting bottled up inside there now, under siege. I can only pray for his safety, and trust in fate to deliver him home safely, however long it may take."

"An' wot if he never shows, this season, or th' next, or th' next after that?"

"If we've heard nothing by the first day of winter, I'll dispatch a messenger to the coastlands. Maybe one of our Sparra ... or perhaps one of your hares would volunteer for the job? Travel can be hard in the winter; a member of the Long Patrols would probably fare best."

"Don't think Urthblood would take kindly to seein' any o' our flop-eared faces 'round his door, ma'am." Clewiston shook his head slightly. "Don't mean t' rain on yer picnic, Abbess, but if you really intend not havin' yer fall feast until Alexander's here, you may's well cancel those plans right now, 'cos I 'spect you'll be waitin' through winter, spring, summer an' back to fall again, an' you'll still be without a name fer this bally season."

"I'm not about to cancel anything," Vanessa replied stiffly. "Things here at Redwall have a way of working out for the best. Maybe after you've lived here a while longer, you'll come to see that for yourself. I'm confident that we'll see Alex and your remaining hares tramping their way to our gate someday very soon."

"Wish I could share yer optimism, ma'am," Clewiston sighed. "I'll miss Sergeant Traughber. Good egg, that one. Probably could've made it here with us, but agreed t' stay behind t' watch out fer the others. He knew wot kinda risk he'd be taking, an' he took it anyway. The lands could use more beasts like that 'un."

The mellow boom-bong of the Matthias and Methuselah bells, back in the sure paws of Cyril and Cyrus, announced the midday meal beneath the skies of steel gray. Vanessa turned and headed for the steps.

"Lunchtime, Colonel. Coming?"

"I'll be along in a bit, ma'am."

"Okay. I'll make sure Monty leaves you something ... although I must say, you hares give even that feedbag of an otter a run for the title of Redwall's champion scoffer!" Vanessa descended the stairs, leaving Colonel Clewiston to his moody thoughts once more.

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If Vanessa and Clewiston had made a bet that noontide on how things would turn out, Vanessa would have won.

Two days later, a Sparra patrol spotted a squirrel and several hares marching along the main path, headed north toward Redwall. The news was greeted at the Abbey with exuberance and overjoyed relief. There was no doubt in anybeast's mind that this was indeed Alexander and the remainder of the Long Patrol. What had so delayed them would be revealed in good time; for now the Abbeydwellers had to make ready to receive their old friend, and the newest members of their family. Monty grabbed his shrimping nets; he had a promise to fulfill on Winokur's behalf.

Autumn was at the height of its glory that day, the yellow and red and orange treetops lit to splendid multihued brilliance by an unblinking sun in a cloudless sky of the purest heavenly blue. The essence of the season that hung in the air deepened to the fragrant aroma of the very earth itself as the afternoon wore on toward dusk and the travellers came within sight of the walltop lookouts. There was no shortage of sentries this day; nearly half the Abbey packed the west and south ramparts, determined to give this smaller band of homecomers no less hearty a welcome than Winokur's procession had received.

The main gates were opened, but this time several of the Abbey's leaders came out to stand at the threshold. No hares were up on the battlements, but Colonel Clewiston and Traveller joined Vanessa, Arlyn, Geoff, Maura, Montybank, Winokur and Elmwood out in the road. They would let the other Redwallers have this moment for welcoming home their squirrel chief, but they felt at the same time that the hares with Alex should be greeted right up front with assurances that they had come home too.

To those down in the road, the approaching travellers were still too far away to make out individual faces. So it was rather surprising when Highwing, returning from his welcoming flyover of the marchers, fluttered down in front of Clewiston and said, "Hullo, Colonel, I thought you were only expecting three hares?"

Clewiston stared at the sparrow. "Wot'cha mean, featherduster?"

"Well, there are four with Alexander. Flopears."

"Four? Are you certain, danderbottom?"

"It was quite clear, bigfoot. There is one squirrel and four hares with that group."

Clewiston and Traveller stared at each other in befuddlement. "You don't suppose ... " they asked simultaneously.

Vanessa smiled at Clewiston. "Perhaps you were even more wrong about Urthblood than you thought, Colonel."

Minutes later, the five journeybeasts came to a halt before the Abbey leaders: Alexander, Sergeant Traughber, Saticoy, Baxley ... and Hanchett. Clewiston and Traveller were too stunned to say anything for many moments.

"Hello, Vanessa." Alex smiled somewhat sheepishly. "I'm home."

Vanessa placed her paws on her hips and scowled at her squirrel friend like an angry parent at a disobedient child. "Alex, that was very naughty of you, running off after I told you not to."

Alex clasped his paws behind his back, hung his head, and twisted one footpaw in toward the other.

The effect was perfect. Gales of laughter washed down upon them from the battlements, while Vanessa and the others broke into the widest of grins. She came forward and lovingly embraced Alex, while Montybank, Winokur and Geoff patted his back and shoulders.

"Welcome! Welcome home!" they all said at once.

A few paces away, the four hares came to attention and saluted Clewiston. "Reportin' fer duty, sah!" Traughber announced.

"At ease, chaps, at ease!" The Colonel marched right over to Hanchett, all but ignoring the other three hares. "Hanchett! Last time I saw you, you were half-dead!"

"Urthblood an' his foxes worked some kinda healin' magic on me, sir. Fixed me up better'n I deserved t' be."

"But ... but ... that brute was gonna have you executed! Wot happened?"

"Full 'n' formal pardon, Colonel," Traughber answered for the younger hare. "When it looked like Hanch was gonna pull through after all, Urthblood issued it. Me 'n' the rest, we thought we'd better stick around until Hanchett was recovered 'nuff t' travel with us. Didn't want him sloggin' it t' Redwall all alone. Figgered you'd approve the delay, given wot it was for."

"Quite so, Sergeant, quite so." Clewiston addressed the four hares as a unit. "Glad you could all make it. Was startin' t' get a bit worried, gotta admit. But it's all right on this end. The Abbess has given us her permission t' live here at Redwall, an' we just put th' finishin' touches on a basement dorm wing 'specially fer us. So buck up, chaps, 'cos from now on it gets better!"

"Couldn't get no worse," Hanchett mumbled. The Colonel made a point of ignoring him.

Alex was still fielding hugs and pawshakes from his friends. "So, I'm forgiven?" he grinned.

"Not so fast," said Vanessa. "Just for disobeying your Abbess's orders, you're to go to bed without any supper tonight!"

"Now, Nessa, that's hardly fair - " Alex started to protest, but Vanessa stopped him with an authoritative upraised paw.

"No supper, that is, except for a healthy helping of that shrimp and hotroot soup Monty's got his otter crew brewing for you now in the kitchens. That will have to tide you over until the feast."

"Feast?"

"Oh, didn't I mention that?" Vanessa smiled mischieviously. "We held off having our Nameday until you got here. Only half the Abbey's up there on the wall to greet you; the other half's helping Friar Hugh get started. Nameday will be tomorrow. So, I hope you brought a good appetite with you!"

"Better than that," Alex replied, "I brought hares with me - and they're appetites on legs!"

"Yes, we've been finding that out ourselves, ever since the Long Patrols arrived here. Um, no offense, Colonel."

"None taken, Abbess. The bally truth never needs an apology, wot?"

Alex looked around at his friends. "You folks must've gotten pretty hungry waiting for me! But seriously, can Friar Hugh throw together a Nameday feast on such short notice?"

"That mouse is a miracle worker when it comes to food - you know that," Vanessa assured him. "Besides, he's had half a season to get the menu worked out in his head. He may have to work all night to get it all done, but rest assured he'll have a spread ready by tomorrow that we'll be talking about for seasons to come."

"In that case," said Alex, "I guess a bowl or two of shrimp soup will do me fine for tonight."

"I'm sure. And while you're slurping up your fill of that, you can fill us all in on everything that happened at Salamandastron since Winokur and the Colonel's main group left you. I assure you, you'll have a captive audience!"

Laughing, smiling, and hugging each other, the friends sauntered through the open gate into the Abbey, with the hares right behind them.


	21. Chapter 83

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Eighty-Three

It was perhaps not the greatest Nameday feast in the history of Redwall. But it would have been impossible to convince any of the Abbeybeasts of that.

The weather was sunny and perfect, so tables and benches were set out upon the lawns, enough to accommodate every member of their newly-expanded family. As noon approached, those tables were slowly filled as one savory dish after another was paraded out by the Friar's kitchen staff. The more trustworthy brothers and sisters were posted as guards to make sure that the children, the hares and the otters did not devour the courses as quickly as they were brought out. Friar Hugh and his helpers had indeed toiled through the night, and the results showed it.

The centerpiece of the feast was a carrot and potato and brown gravy vegetable pie, baked in the largest cauldron that would fit in the ovens. No Friar had ever attempted to make a pie of such size, but Hugh proved equal to the challenge; the crust was golden and flaky all the way around, the gooey thick filling steaming hot to its center. This delectable behemoth was flanked by two of the moles' deeper 'n' ever pies, one using the standard tater, turnip and beet recipe, the other an experiment in mushroom, onion and watershrimp, inspired by a shrew dish Winokur had sampled while at Salamandastron.

These main courses were supported by an array of salads, side dishes, breads and desserts that were every bit as enticing. An immense Mossflower salad contained a little bit of everything from the gardens, while another of dandelion was garnished with sliced tomatoes, crushed acorn bits and slivers of orange cheddar. A gigantic fruit salad consisted of chopped apples, damsons, pears, plums and quince swimming in a thick honey syrup. A sweetmeadow custard was decorated with fresh strawberries. Many of those same fruits found their way into a fruitcake so large that two mice were needed to bear it out from the kitchens. Dressings of spiced cream or vinegar and oil were available for topping off the vegetable salads. Breads ranged from coarse wheaten loaf to soft flowerbread, apple spicebread, honeybread, nutbreads, and even loaves with cheese baked right into them, along with jams of blackberry, raspberry, strawberry, redcurrant, and grape. An iced carrot cake loaf was prepared with the hares especially in mind. Wheels and bricks of white, yellow, and red cheeses were on display, along with a pot of the Friar's specialty hot melted cheese fondue. Desserts included gooseberry crumble with nutmeg cream, custard layer cakes with whipped cream toppings, wild plum woodland pie with buttercup cream, and puddings of a dozen different varieties.

When Friar Hugh gave the word that all was ready, Cyril and Cyrus rushed to the bell tower and hauled at the bellropes with utter abandon, signalling the start of the feast. The entire Sparra population of Warbeak Loft streamed out from under the Abbey's high eaves and swooped down to join the ground creatures. Every mouse, mole, squirrel, hedgehog, otter, hare, badger - yes, and stoat and weasel too - found itself a seat at the tables. Except for one low table that had been set up specially for the children, and the Abbess's ornate chair at the head of the largest central table, every other beast was welcome to mingle and sit wherever it wished. And since Redwallers were famous for getting along famously with each other, far less attention was paid to the picking and choosing of tablemates than to simply getting seated so the eating could begin. Broggen and Smallert were two exceptions; Cyril and Cyrus made sure that their new friends would sit by them for their first of what would hopefully be many Nameday feasts at Redwall.

Finally everybeast was in place and settled satisfactorily. In keeping with tradition, nobeast would so much as nibble or sip at the feast spread out before them until the Abbess had recited a prayer of thanks, and formally declared the name she had chosen for this season. An expectant hush fell over the assemblage as Vanessa stood, the silence broken only by a few tittered giggles from the children's table and some subdued cackles of conversation amongst the Sparra. As eager as the Redwallers were to tuck into the tempting display, most were equally anxious to hear what name this autumn would bear. Vanessa had firmly refused to let slip any advance hint as to her choice, and speculation was rife.

"My dear friends," Vanessa began, "I know you're all eagerly awaiting the prayer of thanks, and the naming of the season, so I've decided to break with tradition a bit and do both at once. In honor of Winokur, our intrepid envoy of peace, and in honor of the Long Patrols who are now a part of our family, I have taken the liberty of composing a special prayer for the occasion. Let us begin."

At all the tables, everybeast took the paws of the creature seated to either side and bowed its head reverently. Outside the main group of tables, the Sparra bowed their heads similarly, some touching wingtips. Vanessa commenced the prayer, her clear voice carrying to every ear.

"Fruits of orchard, garden and pond

Shared with brothers and sisters fond

Otter, hedgehog, squirrel and mole

Together make our family whole

Sparra friends so swift of wing

Badger Mother whose praise we sing

Spare a thought for friends not here

And the safe return of ones held dear

In these times fraught with war

Cherish our blessing even more

Also wish to our new friends

Peace until their seasons end

So, with thanks, I do declare

The Autumn of the Fighting Hares!"

Cheers erupted all around, as longtime Redwallers raised up their mugs and beakers and goblets in a toast to their new hare friends.

"How's about that, Colonel?" Montybank barked cheerfully at Clewiston; the Long Patrol commander and the Abbey's skipper of otters had grown very fond of each other, as had all the hares and otters in general. "You bobtails're gonna get a whole season named fer you! Quite an honor, eh?"

"No more than they deserve," put in Geoff. "Their arrival is certainly the most noteworthy happening at Redwall this season, so the choice of that name is most apt. Good work, Vanessa!"

"Bravo! Bravo!" many voices called out at once. "Here's to the Long Patrols! Hooray!"

The Colonel and Traveller both looked a tad uncomfortable at all the praise and attention, but bore up to the moment with proper regimental grace.

"Thank you, Abbess. Thank you, kind gentlebeasts."

"Speech! Speech!"

Traveller nudged his old friend in the ribs. "They want a speech, Clewey."

Somewhat flustered, Clewiston got to his feet and addressed the beasts around him. "Guess this means we're invited t' stick around fer awhile, wot? Can't tell all you good creatures wot yer friendship means to us, no jolly words t' do those sentiments justice. Words was never my strong suit, but there's one thing I do know, an' I'm sure you'll all agree with me."

The Colonel gave a dramatic pause. Everybeast leaned forward, hanging on every word.

"This food's gettin' cold!" he declared. "So enuff with the blusterin' an' speechmakin' - let's eat!"

If the cheers for him before were hearty, the ones Clewiston received now were out and out thunderous. The children's table in particular added to the din, but only momentarily; after that they were too busy with their food.

Clewiston sat. Vanessa said to him, "The name I chose was to honor what you have always been and what you've been through, Colonel. But now that you're all Redwallers, it is my sincere hope that you will never have to fight a war again for the rest of your seasons."

"You an' me both, Abbess," Clewiston nodded. "You an' me both."

00000000000

Overall, the Nameday feast was a smashing success. To those who were longtime Abbeydwellers, no food ever tasted so delicious nor drink so refreshing as it did that crystal clear mid-autumn day. And for those who were experiencing their very first Nameday, it was like stepping into a brand new world of never-before-guessed-at delights.

Broggen and Smallert were at a loss as to the plenty on display before them. Well, almost.

Cyril sat between weasel and stoat, with Cyrus on Smallert's other paw. The two mice were amazed at the amount of food their new friends put away that day. Both were very mindful of their table manners, careful not to make a spectacle of themselves in front of so many gentlebeast woodlanders. But their proper use of utensils, polite requests for additional helpings, delicate dabs at their lips with their napkins, and careful chewing of each bite could not disguise the fact that they were taking in enough food and drink to burst a smaller creature.

"Ooo," Smallert moaned in gastronomical joy, "I never knew food as good as this existed, even here at Redwall! This meal's better'n life itself!"

"Wouldn't go that far, matey," Broggen said over his third slice of pink cream custard layer cake. "It's food like this that makes life worth livin'!" He paused to ruffle Cyril's head fur. "An' friends like this, too!"

"But what would good food be without good drink, I ask yer?" Smallert said as he refilled his beaker with October ale, then held the pitcher out to Broggen. "Wot'cha drinkin', matey? Fizzy pink stuff! Here, try some o' this, this's the stuff fer grown beasts!"

The stoat politely declined. "Oh, I daresn't. No ales ner spirits fer this ol' stoat. Got in some trouble up north once by gettin' drunk, an' it almost cost me my life, so I'm sworn off that brew. Thanks anyway, mucker."

"Who ya callin' mucker?" Smallert accused good-naturedly as he withdrew the pitcher of ale.

"You, matey. 'Cos y' got mucky raspberry jam all over yer whiskers."

"Yeah? Well, you got pink fluffy cream hangin' off the end o' yers! Makes you look real pretty, too! Lucky fer you there's no other stoats at Redwall, 'cos one of 'em might mistake you fer a sweet li'l stoatmaid an' make you his wife!"

"Well, that's easily 'nuff remerdee'd." Broggen daintily licked his whisker ends clean. "Hey, anybeast else want that last dollop o' meadowcream custard puddin'?"


	22. Chapter 84

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Eighty-Four

"Hey, who's that?" Lieutenant Gallatin asked aloud, gazing up at the west walltop.

"Looks like Hanchett," Sergeant Traughber said, following Gallatin's gaze. He turned to Clewiston. "That lad worries me a bit, Colonel. Don't think he's been quite right in th' head ever since he woke up an' learned Lord Urthfist had been slain. Almost didn't wanna come to Redwall with us. P'raps somebeast oughta go up an' talk to him."

Traveller set down his plate and started for the wall stairs. "Capital idea, Sergeant. You chaps stay here an' guard th' scoff. I'll tend to this ... ooph!"

Cuffy the dormouse was punching playfully at Traveller's thigh, trying to get the old hare's attention. He'd succeeded quite well.

"Wanna piggyback ride, Mista Travver!"

"Oh, you do, do ya?" Traveller squatted onto his haunches to face the rowdy child. "Well, I'd like nothin' better, me stout young bucko. But I gotta see to an ol' friend o' mine first. An' you, I wager, should sit fer awhile t' let yer meal settle 'fore I go traipsin' 'round all over th' place with you on my bally shoulders. Otherwise, you'll be a sickbeast, an' then you'll hafta go take some o' Sister Aurelia's yucky physics fer yer tummy."

"Yuck!" Cuffy agreed, and plunked himself down right there on the grass. "I'll settle my tummy for ya, Mista Travver."

"Good little mouseything! Be back in a jiff!"

Traveller loped across the lawns and up the west wallsteps. He found Hanchett standing on the battlements. Not the walltop walkway, but the actual battlement wall, with only half a step between him and a plunge to the hard-packed dirt path far below. "Enjoyin' the jolly view, Hanch?"

Hanchett stared down at the path. "D'you s'pose a beast could get killed fallin' from up here?" he asked hollowly.

"Reckon it could happen," Traveller answered, casually grabbing Hanchett by the tail and gently urging the younger hare back down off the precarious perch. Hanchett complied without a fuss, stepping back onto the ramparts. "But we don't want that happenin' to anybeast here, wot?"

Hanchett remained silent, gazing westward.

"Don't need t' tell ya how surprised we all were t' see ya yesterday. Didn't reckon Urthblood would ever let you go, assumin' you did survive yer injuries, which was lookin' none too promisin' when we left you."

"He's got Salamandastron now," Hanchett said. "Wot would he want with me?"

"My impression was he'd wanna make an example outta you. Tyrants always want more'n they've got. Besides, you cost him his sword paw."

A haunted expression came to Hanchett's face. "I cost Lord Urthfist his life. He's dead 'cos of me. Now Urthblood's got Salamandastron an' the coastlands, an' all of Mossflower's in jeopardy. The prophecy's comin' true, all because o' wot I did. 'Course he let me go - I did him the biggest bloody favor anybeast coulda. Now I gotta live with that ... if I can."

"Now just a bloomin' minute!" Traveller huffed. "I was there too. I saw wot happened. Better'n you did, since you got crushed flat while it was still goin' on. Lord Urthfist's dead because Urthblood stuck his flippin' sword through His Lordship's skull! And because that treacherous fox ambushed him from th' side!"

"Which wouldn't have happened if I hadn't broken into their single combat first."

"It was never declared single combat," said Traveller. "Beasts from both sides told me so afterwards. Soldiers from either side coulda jumped in at any bally time."

"But they didn't, not 'til I did," Hanchett insisted. "If I'd stayed out, Lord Urthfist would still be alive."

Traveller put his paws on his hips. "I don't know wot battle you were watchin', chum, but Lord Urthfist was losin' to Urthblood before you ever jumped in. Urthfist was drained an' only gettin' moreso by the moment, an' the Bloodwrath was makin' him careless. Urthblood woulda driven him into th' ground an' then slain him anyway, no matter wot you did. So snap outta that funk you're in, 'cos you don't deserve it, an' moreover, this ain't the day fer it!"

Hanchett stood unmoved by Traveller's plea, his back turned to the merrymaking that was going on below them.

"Fer wot it's worth," the old scout added, "I think you did a mighty brave thing, comin' to Urthfist's aid when th' rest o' us were standin' 'round doin' nothin'. But sometimes brave acts still go to a losin' cause. In my book, you're a hero."

"Those Redwallers think that fox was the hero."

"So wot? He befriended these good folk, an' now they're mournin' him th' way that's only proper fer decent creatures. I don't hold it against 'em, an' neither should you. They're our bally family now, an' we're mighty lucky to have 'em after wot we been through."

Traveller took Hanchett by the shoulders and turned the younger hare until he faced the Abbey grounds spread out below. "Take a good, long look at this place, Hanch. Take a healthy gander at those happy, lovin' goodbeasts down there, an' all those innocent, carefree young ones. Don't stop lookin' until that blissful scene's burned into yer brain."

Hanchett grudgingly obeyed, but said morosely, "If you're gonna tell me I gotta be happy fer their sake, it won't wash, sir. I ain't got that kind o' happiness inside me anymore."

"That's as may be. But I wouldn't order anybeast to be joyful 'gainst its will. This isn't about you bein' happy, Hanchett. It's about your responsibilities. Now, you got that picture o' Redwall's Nameday clear in yer mind?"

Hanchett nodded.

Traveller slowly spun Hanchett around again until he was facing west once more. "Now, look out that way, far as you can, an' tell me wot you see."

"Our past," Hanchett muttered. "One we can never go back to."

"'Fraid you've got it all wrong, chap. That's our bally future out there. Only question is, wot kind o' future will it be?"

For the first time, Hanchett looked at Traveller as if he were really seeing the old scout, and his gaze was full of puzzlement. "Wot do you mean?"

"You see th' plains, an' beyond that you see th' mountains, just a misty line on th' bally horizon at this distance. Somewhere beyond them, where we can't see, lies Salamandastron, an' Urthblood's sittin' pretty inside of it. If Lord Urthfist was right about him, the real struggle may only just be beginnin'. If that's th' case, we can expect a wave o' trouble to come washin' over Mossflower from that direction, an' come breakin' 'gainst these very walls. Now, you still got that Nameday picture in yer mind? Envision these fair folk an' their little ones bein' caught up in th' same kind o' horror we went through. We're Redwallers now, an' this's our home to defend. Ferget about Salamandastron an' th' coastlands; they're Urthblood's now, an' he's gonna do with 'em wot he will. But that doesn't mean our job's done, not by a long sight. We got double duty now; we're still th' Long Patrol, but we're members o' this Abbey, too, an' that means defendin' it an' its residents with our lives if need be. Mayhap it'll never happen. Then again, the day may come when Urthblood's got a conquering horde at Redwall's front gate. That's when the jolly ol' Abbess will need us, every jack hare an' able pair o' paws among us, to help her hold back the tide o' evil. You gotta be there, Hanchett. If wot happened at Salamandastron weighs on yer soul, look ahead to that day. We can't afford to be without you then. An' if all hope o' happiness really has abandoned you, then there's still yer sense o' purpose. You're a soldier, an' the Colonel hasn't discharged you from service yet. So if you think you got nothin' left to live fer, think again. You just hafta figure out fer yerself wot it's gonna be: the fulfillin' life lived among dear friends who truly care 'bout you, or th' grim an' lonely existence of a warrior whose only purpose is standin' vigilant in readiness fer th' next battle. It's your choice. We'll be here fer you, whichever way you decide. But your time's not done yet. If it were, you'd never have left Salamandastron alive. So get used to it, 'cos you're not goin' anywhere fer awhile."

A cold fire had come to Hanchett's eyes. It was not a pleasant thing to behold. But at least the hopelessness was gone.

"I'll have to think about wot you said, sir."

"That's wot I said it for. Take as long as you need. Me, I'm headin' back down to the feast. Got a dormouse waitin' fer a piggyback ride. Mebbe I'll see you down there in a bit?"

"We'll see." Hanchett was staring hard at the western mountains. Better that than the hard path below, Traveller thought to himself. He gave Hanchett a comradely pound on the shoulder, then took his leave of the troubled young hare.

Maura met him near the foot of the wall stairs. The badger had been watching some of the exchange between the two hares on the walltop. "Anything wrong?" she inquired.

"Nothin' time won't fix," Traveller replied, and crossed the lawns to where Cuffy sat waiting patiently for his piggyback ride.

00000000000

For the first time in living memory, there were no leftovers from the Nameday feast.

Every leaf of every salad, every crumb of bread and cake, every smidgen of the three entrees, every slice and wedge of cheese, every last smear of custard and cream and pudding - all had disappeared into the mouths and stomachs of the hungry Redwallers. There were traces of jams and jellies hiding at the bottom of some jars, and Balla's casks had not quite been tapped dry, but everything else had been demolished. Friar Hugh strolled from table to table through the ruins of his feast, shaking his head in wonder ... and smiling, for what chef wants to see any of its carefully-devised offerings go untouched and ignored by meal's end?

As the low autumn sun set below the west wall and the chill of approaching evening settled over the Abbey, many of the revellers found their way indoors, gathering down in Cavern Hole where a roaring fire had been lit in the oversized hearth. A few hearty stragglers remained up on the grounds into the dusky twilight, running and playing or just strolling leisurely through garden and orchard in the fading light. Winokur and his Sparra friend Rafter sparred with shafts by the pond's edge, just as they had on that long-ago day of the summer past when Urthblood had first arrived at Redwall. Other otters swam and frolicked in the cool water, or wrestled on the nearby grass. Broggen joined Smallert as an honorary otter that night, initiated with a not altogether voluntary dip in the pond. Afterwards, while the sodden stoat headed downstairs to dry out by the fire, Smallert demonstrated his wrestling prowess in matches with anybeast who would accept his challenge. Montybank was the only one who succeeded in pinning the weasel; every other otter was either pinned or fought to a draw by the athletic Smallert. The matches came to an abrupt end when Balla herself wandered over looking to join in the action. Nobeast cared to try their paw at wrestling with a hedgehog!

Vanessa and Arlyn and most of the hares stayed up to lend a paw to Friar Hugh's staff in the task of clearing away all the dirty pots, dishes, utensils and drinking vessels.

"This must be some kind of record, Friar," Arlyn remarked as he gathered spoons and knives together into a large bowl. "Has there ever been a Nameday feast before where there's been absolutely nothing left at the end of it?"

"Not that I heard tell of," the Friar mouse answered over a stack of plates.

"I'll have to ask Geoff about it later," said Vanessa. "If anybeast would know, it would be our historian."

"Be careful, Vanessa," Arlyn warned. "Knowing Geoff, he'll dive down into the archives to research the matter, and we won't see tail nor whisker of him again until midwinter!"

"Well, I'm not complaining," Friar Hugh said as he staggered off toward the Abbey under his load. "Much rather have empty dishes to clear away than full ones!"

"I guess having twoscore hares on paw makes a difference," said Arlyn.

Hugh snorted. "That weasel and stoat certainly did their part in making all this food disappear, too! Thought for sure they'd both make themselves sick, but they seem fine. Don't know where they put it all!"

"It's a good thing the Guosim shrews haven't shown up for the winter yet," Vanessa observed. "We would have run out of food before we were halfway through the feast."

Friar Hugh paled. "Oh, fur! I hadn't thought of that! You mean I'm gonna hafta feed all of them as well as these feedbags come the winter Nameday? And spring too?"

"Better plan on making even more next time around," Vanessa suggested, "judging by today's results."

"Ha! Judging by today's results, I'd better get started on the next Nameday feast first thing tomorrow morning!"

Colonel Clewiston and Lieutenant Gallatin wandered by at the tail end of this conversation. Gallatin eyed all the empty bowls and plates with a hint of wistful longing. "I say, th' bally scoff's truly all gone, huh? Top hole, Friar me bucko. Best tucker I ever did taste in all me life. You really outdid yerself. But, if I could just offer one teensy little suggestion fer next time 'round?"

"Yeessss?" Hugh prompted, afraid he knew what was coming.

"Portions coulda been a tad larger. Don't want anybeast feelin' skimped comin' away from yer jolly tables, wot?"

"I'll keep that in mind," Hugh said stiffly, and bustled away with his burden.

Clewiston joined Vanessa and Arlyn in collecting silverware. "Just heard you gentlemice talkin' 'bout yer shrew friends. Couldn't help but wonder, where are they gonna stay? Never thought about it before when you mentioned 'em, but you folks hadta dig a whole new sleepin' wing fer us Long Patrols, an' there's only twoscore o' us. Gather there's several times that number o' shrews. Where d'you fit 'em in?"

"Cavern Hole becomes one big open dormitory during the winter," Vanessa replied. "We have all our meals up in Great Hall. The Guosim aren't modest about sleeping out in the open, since that's what they do normally when they're wandering Mossflower in the warmer seasons. The heat from all those shrew bodies helps keep it nice and toasty down there, even when the fireplace isn't lit. As cozy as your new underground rooms are, I expect you'll be spending a lot of this winter in Cavern Hole. On especially cold and windy wintry nights, it's not unheard of for nearly every creature in the Abbey to hunker down there, even though the sleeping mats get so packed that there's barely room to roll over!"

Measured against the growing chill of the deepening autumn night around them, the word picture Vanessa had just painted sounded quite inviting to Clewiston. "You Redwallers sure know how t' live, I'll give you that!"

"At least your first Nameday with us was a success," Arlyn said, "even if the portions were a bit, ah, skimpy!"

Clewiston playfully punched Gallatin in the shoulder. "Oh, don't pay th' Lieutenant here any mind! We all had our bally fill an' then some. Just Galt's way o' payin' his compliments to yer Friar. Wotcha gotta remember is, it's a lieutenant's job t' keep th' rest o' the platoon under him in line an' sharp, an' that means criticizin' everything. Wot he said t' the Friar just now, well, comin' from Gallatin, that's a rave!"

Gallatin's ears drooped as he stacked bowls. "The Colonel's right, ma'am. T'was an absolutely spiffin' beanfest, an' anybeast who's got an unkind word to say 'bout it can jolly well take it up with me!" He gazed down at the empty dishes with a trace of his former longing. "Just pains me t' see th' bottom o' all these bally pots 'n' plates when the tucker's so whisker-lickin' scrumptious, is all."

Vanessa laid a paw on his wrist. "Then take solace in this, Lieutenant. We had a very late Nameday this season, waiting for Alexander to get here. Autumn's half gone already ... which means our winter Nameday could be as soon as half a season from now."

Gallatin's ears stood straight again, waggling with delight. "Oh ho! I'll be there!"

"Of course you will," the Abbess smiled. "All the Long Patrols will. For that Nameday, and hopefully for many, many more after it!"

Full night had fallen over Mossflower by now, the fathomless dome of black sky hung with stars twinkling bright and clear, bringing a perfect end to a perfect day. Brother Jerome lit some torches for the completion of the cleanup. Vanessa, Arlyn, Clewiston and Gallatin strolled toward the Abbey, each bearing a load of dirty dinnerware. The door stood propped open for the sake of convenience, and even out here on the lawns, the sound of laughter and singing could be heard drifting up from Cavern Hole.

"Sounds like some o' my chaps have found their way down there," the Colonel observed.

"Actually," said Arlyn, cocking an ear, "that off-key caterwauling sounds like Smallert to me. I think that weasel has had a touch too much October ale for his own good!"

"I do believe you're right, Arlyn," Vanessa nodded, "although I do hear some support harmonies too. Those are hare voices, I think."

"With some otters holding down the bass lines," Arlyn added.

Clewiston smiled in the darkness, the warm glow through the open door and festive noises beckoning them inside. "Ah, Redwall," he sighed deeply. "A poor exile could do worse fer a home. Couldn't do much better, but could do much, much worse! Abbess, Abbot, thank you both again, from th' bottom o' all our hearts, fer openin' yer Abbey to us an' lettin' us make your home ours too. It means more'n I can ever say."

"You're welcome, Colonel. You're very, very welcome."

Together they passed into the Abbey to deliver their loads to the kitchens, and then rejoin the celebration for however far into the night it lasted.


	23. Epilogue

Extract from the diary of Brother Geoff, Recorder of Redwall Abbey:

_One thing at which Redwall excels is honoring the new members of our family. The Autumn of the Fighting Hares has given way to the Winter of the White Stoat!_

_Nobeast among us would have supposed that Broggen was in truth an ermine stoat. The loveable oaf never thought to mention it at all until his fur started to turn. Now he's pure white from ears to tail, and quite a handsome beast to behold. Yesterday we got our first snowfall of the young season - not much, just an ankle-deep coating - so first thing this morning, there was Broggs (as he likes to be called) cavorting in the snow with the young ones, wearing nothing but his beret and a smile! His paws were quite frozen by the time they came inside, but he sure did have fun! I had nearly as much myself just watching. It really is amazing what nature can do; once or twice during their play, Broggen's beret fell off, and until he would put it back on, he truly was almost invisible against the white snow. Such camouflage must have been most useful during his winters in the Northlands._

_It is still too early to tell how severe this winter will be. The pond has yet to freeze over, and might not at all if the season is a mild one. We'd all just as soon it did; the fish and shrimp are all in hibernation until the spring anyway, and skating and sliding on the ice can be great fun._

_Log-a-Log and the Guosim arrived just ahead of the winter, right on schedule. The ranks of the Guosim have grown great in recent seasons, although there are fewer staying with us this winter than anticipated. It seems the divisions between Log-a-Log's followers and those of Snoga have grown deep and hostile. Nearly a hundred of those shrews refused to come to Redwall, based on Snoga's say so. I don't know how they plan to survive the winter, but I can't say I'm altogether sorry for their absence. From what Winokur and Log-a-Log have told us about Snoga, that shrew is nothing but trouble, and I don't think he'd be very welcome at Redwall. Their assessment was shared by Lorr, the designer of that marvelous bridge that figured so prominently in Urthblood's march to Salamandastron. That bankvole truly is one of the most interesting and entertaining characters I've ever met. From almost his first moment inside our gates, he was feverishly poking his nose into every corner of our Abbey. I don't believe Lorr ever imagined any place such as Redwall existed, and he still works himself into a state of near-delirium sometimes when he sets his mind to figuring out exactly how all the different parts of Redwall were constructed. I've given him the original architectural plans for the Abbey, and I swear he reads them the way the rest of us would read a gripping adventure tale. Truly a unique and talented mind._

_With all the Long Patrols living here now, it's crowded enough even without Snoga's gang. Those hares have proven to be true and valuable friends. I had as many reservations as anybeast about them becoming Redwallers, but I am happy that my fears were unfounded. Warriors they might be, but they have adjusted to life here at the Abbey without any problem. They get along with everybeast, including Smallert and Broggs, and have developed a special bond with our otters. Hares and otters do have more in common than I'd realized. Both are boisterous, funloving, flamboyant, and not above the occasional practical joke or imaginative insult. It is sometimes easy to forget the tragedy that these cheerful creatures endured not two seasons ago. Most of the time they seem so happy and content with life here, but deep down they all bear scars upon their souls from their loss of Lord Urthfist and so many of their beloved comrades. You can see it in their eyes sometimes during their more pensive moments - especially in Hanchett's. That hare is the grimmest of the Long Patrols, and seldom laughs or smiles. Sometimes I worry about him; sometimes he almost scares me._

_Urthblood visited Redwall two days after our winter Nameday feast. Colonel Clewiston tried very hard to be civil and courteous to that badger, but in the end it was just too much for him, so he and the Long Patrols made themselves very scarce during the three days of Urthblood's stay. (The hares' dorm tunnel connects directly with the wine cellars, so they can come and go for food and drink as they please without having to enter any other part of the Abbey.) I think they might have preferred to leave Redwall altogether and go into the woods rather than share the same Abbey with that beast, but I believe it was more than the winter cold that kept them within our warm home. They do not trust Urthblood, plain and simple, and they are convinced he is a danger to Redwall. They wanted to be on paw in case Urthblood caused any trouble or mischief of a bad sort. I suspect they were watching him more closely than anybeast realized, even though they did not seem to be around at all. It is comforting to have such dilligent defenders looking out for our safety, whether they are right about Urthblood or not._

_That Badger Lord was full of news. He finally felt it was safe for him to leave Salamandastron because his reinforcements have at last come down from the Northlands: three hundred Gawtrybe squirrel archers! They are fanatically devoted to him, and were willing to leave their home to come to a strange region as soon as his request reached them. Lady Mina assured us that they are all nearly her equal in shooting skill. I have tried in my mind to picture such a force and keep coming up short; it is simply beyond my imagining. But I would like to see Tratton try to attack Salamandastron now! Of course the Gawtrybe are also assigned to the patrolling of the coastlands as well - that's why Urthblood summoned so many of them - but they are woefully inadequate for the task. Squirrels are at home in trees, not running up and down sandy shores for leagues at a stretch. Urthblood tried to talk Colonel Clewiston into bringing the Patrols back to Salamandastron, but his attempts were, shall we say, less than successful. It was shortly after that conversation that the hares dropped out of sight, and didn't resurface until Urthblood's departure two days later._

_Yes, as I just indicated, Lady Mina was indeed with Urthblood when he appeared here, as were the eleven swordfoxes who survived the battle. I would have thought Mina would remain at Salamandastron to oversee the Gawtrybe there, but she and Urthblood were content to leave that fortress under the joint command of the otter captain Saybrook and the weasel captain Mattoon. Redwall's hospitality was extended to all our visitors. Alex was so happy to see Mina again that he literally did somersaults across the lawns! What's more, the squirrel Lady stayed with us even after Urthblood and the foxes departed for parts unknown, and dwells here still. I truly believe (and Vanessa and Arlyn agree) that she is as smitten with Alex as he is with her. No wedding has been announced yet, but I should be very surprised if they are not married by the end of spring. That is when beasts are feeling their most romantic, and the pull of nature is hard to ignore._

_But back to Urthblood. He still insists a terrible crisis lies ahead of us, and still wishes to strengthen ties between Salamandastron and Redwall. His latest plan for achieving this is intriguing, and has some merit. He thinks our Sparra could make one-day trips between Redwall and the coastlands, if they did not have to fly the distance all at once. He proposes a series of "way stations" - one on either side of the mountains and a third halfway across the Western Plains - all in a line, so the Sparra messengers could stop for food, drink and rest along the way. This way, a regular line of communication could be opened between Mossflower and Salamandastron. It remains to be seen whether a sparrow could make it over the high mountains, but Highwing seemed enthused, so we shall see. If only we'd had such a system in place when those two badgers were at loggerheads, we might have known more than we did. Of course, it could be argued that Urthblood was indeed using his falcons and kites and owls for such purposes, but he was rather keeping them for himself ..._

_If anything at all encouraging came out of Urthblood's latest visit, it was that he openly admitted to using Browder to lure his brother out of Salamandastron, and formally apologized to Vanessa for invoking the name of our Abbey in his scheme. He still insists he was only trying to save lives, and genuinely regrets the deaths of Urthfist and so many of the Long Patrols. As for his use of the weapons from the Badger Lords' treasure, that was a rather interesting conversation Vanessa had with him. It went something like this (I am recalling the words as exactly as my admittedly imperfect memory allows):_

_"Did you intend to provoke Urthfist into attacking you?"_

_"Abbess, I had to defend my front lines as best I could."_

_"Yes, but were you trying to provoke an attack?"_

_"Abbess, I am Lord of the Mountain. Those weapons were mine to use as I saw fit."_

_"Yes, but did you seek to provoke an attack?"_

_"Abbess, the safety of the lands was at stake."_

_"Yes, but did you not foresee that you would provoke an attack?"_

_"Abbess, my prophetic vision does have its limits."_

_"My Lord, it is a simple question: did you or did you not intend to provoke an attack?"_

_"These matters are more complicated than that, Abbess ... "_

_And so it went. No matter how directly he was asked, Urthblood would not supply a yes or no answer to the question. Whenever Vanessa grew exasperated at his evasiveness, he would simply sit patiently waiting for her to calm down, saying nothing, a look of no particular emotion on his face. The whole scene was quite bizarre, and I still do not know what it signifies. A deceptive liar would simply have denied it, giving us the answer that would placate us. But Urthblood never did deny it. Perhaps it is a riddle that will never be answered._

_All is well with the other brothers and sisters of our beloved Abbey. Arlyn only seems to be growing younger with the passing of each season; I saw him just yesterday, up on the walltop catching the early snowflakes on his outstretched tongue like a youngbeast, and I would swear he's more hale and hearty than he was this summer! Together, Arlyn and Vanessa provide the strong leadership Redwall needs in these uncertain times, and they are both greatly bouyed by the fact that our Long Patrol friends have settled in so well._

_Sister Aurelia and Maura have grown closer these past two seasons. Our dear Badger Mother has confided in me that she still grieves for Machus, sometimes to the point of heartbreak, and she has taken to seeking out Aurelia at such times for comfort. Our youthful Infirmary keeper also misses that fox, having worked closely with Machus to save Cyrus. Maura and Aurelia can offer each other genuine solace over that loss, sharing a bond of sorrow stronger than exists between any other Redwallers on this matter. I don't think even Cyril and Cyrus mourn for Machus the way they do._

_Cyrus is completely recovered from his injury of last summer. He and Cyril are back to ringing the Matthias and Methuselah bells every day, and what a surepawed and joyous sound it is! Maura was an admirable stand-in, but those two young brothers are the true masters of the tolling craft. Cyril has been spending much time with Sister Aurelia of late, and Abbess Vanessa too, learning some of the healing secrets in memory of Machus. But I do not think his heart is really in it. He is picking up some useful knowledge, but I suspect that deep down he has not given up on his warrior's ambition. He shies away from such talk because of what happened at Salamandastron, and what happened to Cyrus. But someday Redwall may need a new Champion to pick up the sword of Martin, and Cyril is as good a candidate as anymouse._

_Neither Cyril nor Cyrus are helping me in the archives anymore. I ended my search for clues to these times last summer, and have no plans to resume it. Ever since the discovery of that cryptic verse, suggesting that these days (and perhaps all the days henceforth) were hidden from the foresight of our founders, a certain disquiet has been upon my mind. In one sense, it is exciting to be standing on the cutting edge of history, to be making our own history, one that was not glimpsed or mapped out to past generations. On the other paw, it is daunting to imagine that Urthblood's power is such that he has cut off this entire age, and perhaps all the ages to come, from the past. Daunting, and frankly a little frightening, that such a weight of prophecy would rest within a single creature._

_It all comes back to Urthblood. Is he good, or evil? Friend or foe? Honest, or a deceiver? The hares are convinced he is pure evil, but of course they would be; they can hardly be expected to be objective on the matter. Unsettling as he may be himself, questionable as the events surrounding him have been, he is still Lord of Salamandastron, and has done nothing to harm us directly. We know he has many fine beasts serving under him. Can they all be wrong? Vanessa steadfastly refused to join a side while Urthblood and Urthfist were fighting. But that war is over now. Urthfist is dead, and Urthblood controls the coastlands uncontested, except perhaps by Tratton. That badger has great power of arms, perhaps greater than any creature of his kind has ever held before. In my heart, I feel that if such power is ever directed against us, we will surely fall._

_Yet I have strong cause for hope. Urthblood has had opportunity to conquer us, but he has not. The false scenario he gave Browder to carry to Urthfist could very well have come to pass, had he been of a mind to commit such an atrocity. He was a Badger Lord, and we let him into our home, trusting him. From the accounts I have heard of the battle of Salamandastron, I have no doubt that Urthblood could indeed have slain us all at that first council meeting down in Cavern Hole, and we'd have been powerless to stop him. And likewise we let his army into Redwall; then too we could have been overrun and conquered, but we were not. And in spite of the near-tragedy with Cyrus, I would go so far as to say we came out of the whole affair for the better. We made friends that we would not have made otherwise._

_The Long Patrols speak of Urthblood as if he is the devil himself. I think they are wrong. Many times I have heard those hares refer to the "treacherous" act of Machus. They regard that swordfox as the worst of villains. Winokur, who was there to witness those same events, has told me that what Machus did was perhaps the bravest thing he'd ever seen anybeast do. I guess it all depends on where you're standing. And I was standing right over Cyrus when Machus saved his life, against all odds. I know Machus was a goodbeast. If our hare friends can be so wrong about him, they could be just as wrong about Urthblood._

_But more than anything else, I have faith in Redwall. Our home has stood for generations beyond counting (and I should know - I've tried to count them!). Always it has stood as a sanctuary in times of trouble, a bastion against the evil which occasionally breaks out in the lands. Many of our Abbots and Abbesses have stated that evil can never triumph over good. Redwall is a stronghold of goodness. Right has always been on our side. Many times the forces of evil have confronted us; every time we have come out on top. This is the way it has always been, and the way it shall always be. There will be more enemies of peace and freedom and decency in the seasons to come, of that I have no doubt. We will face them down just as we always have, defend ourselves as we have always done, and persevere because we must. As I write these words, I can almost feel sorry for the enemies of Redwall, because they can never win. Their villainous ways will only bring them death and defeat, while we go on, and on._

_We are Redwall. We will endure, come what may. And that is the most comforting feeling that a good soul can know._


End file.
